


just say you do

by biblionerd07



Series: not playing a part [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Chronic Illness, Depression, Fake Marriage, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 173,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve just wanted a job. He wasn't expecting a marriage proposal. And he certainly wasn't expecting to <i>accept</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Скажи «Да»](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932361) by [fata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fata/pseuds/fata)



> I know, you guys. I know. I have two WIPs in the home stretch and here I am starting a new one before I finish those. I'm sorry. But this happened. It's based on [this tumblr post](http://toraziyals.tumblr.com/post/119918214212/one-time-my-old-roommate-made-an-account-on-some)

Steve sighs and looks again at his empty inbox. He refreshes the page, just in case. Nothing. He wakes his phone and looks at it. No messages, no calls, nothing. Then, just to really freak himself out, he checks his bank account.

He exits it quickly, swallowing the wave of nausea that rises in his stomach. He’s got rent due in two weeks and that will completely clean him out. He hasn’t gotten any commissions, his freelance profile has been silent, and he hasn’t heard a thing about any applications he’s sent out in the past three weeks.

He breathes deep, trying to calm himself down. Something will work out as long as he gets to work. That’s what his mother used to always say. Instinctively, he glances at the picture of her he keeps on his desk, the one of them at Disneyland, the last vacation they took together before the cancer left her too weak to go anywhere outside their block.

“I’m trying to work but I can’t find anything,” he mumbles to her under his breath. Her bright, happy face offers no advice. Steve taps his fingers against his computer, thinking. He could call that temp agency again. He makes a face, but he really doesn’t have many other options.

Just as he’s about to unlock his phone, it pings at him, and he perks up. He slumps a little when he sees it’s Sam—not that there’s anything wrong with Sam, of course, but Sam doesn’t have money to offer Steve.

Except it turns out he does. He sent Steve a picture of an ad on the VA bulletin board—short term janitor position, immediate need, at least a month of work. Steve groans out loud. He’ll take it, of course, but he’ll hate every second of it. And the cleaning solutions will probably make his lungs ache and his eyes burn. If he’s really lucky he’ll break out in a rash, too.

_Sign me up_ , he texts back. Sam isn’t exactly the boss of the VA, but he runs his own group sessions, so Steve knows this means he’s got the job. And he’s grateful. He _is_. He just wishes he didn’t have to take this kind of stuff.  
  
Steve doesn’t have anything against janitors, of course, but he’d much rather Sam send him ads for people wanting portraits painted of them. Steve should have been born in the Renaissance. Except for the whole asthmatic-with-bad-eye-sight-and-a-heart-murmur-and-deaf-in-one-ear-and-immunodeficient part.  
  
Steve points a finger at his mother’s picture. “I know, I know. Be grateful for the opportunity. I am. But jeez, Ma, how often am I gonna have to clean up other people’s shit in this world?”  
  
He jumps at the knock on his bedroom door and whirls around to see one of his roommates, Clint, standing in the doorway. “Were you talking to me?” He asks. “I could hear your voice.” Clint lost 80% of his hearing from an IED in Afghanistan and only wears his hearing aids about half the time, but that 20% left means he always manages to catch Steve being embarrassing.  
  
Steve shakes his head, a little sheepish. _Just talking out loud_ , he signs. Clint’s good at reading lips, but it’s a frustratingly inaccurate method of communication and doesn’t make sense to do that when Steve is perfectly fluent in sign.  
  
Clint laughs at him, of course, because Clint’s a human disaster but he still feels lofty enough to laugh at Steve for talking to himself. Steve rolls his eyes.  
  
“There’s pizza if you want it,” Clint tells him, already turning around and effectively ignoring any response Steve might have. Steve considers it for a minute, but the stomach issues from the cheese wouldn’t be worth it.  
  
As he’s eating rice for the third consecutive night in a row, Steve messes around on a few job boards. Just because he’s grateful for the opportunity Sam’s gotten him doesn’t mean he needs to get complacent. Besides, the janitor gig is only part time, and temporary to boot.  
  
Natasha waltzes in while he’s eating and pats him on the head the way she knows he hates. She’s just about the only person shorter than he is, but that doesn’t stop her from treating him like he’s small.  
  
“No luck on the job search?” She asks.  
  
“Sam found me a short-term thing,” he tells her, trying to sound bright. She raises an eyebrow that tells him he missed the mark a little.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Janitorial,” he says gamely.  
  
Natasha narrows her eyes for a second, and he can imagine her sweeping through her mental checklist of his health problems. “Well, at least it’s something,” she says.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“I could always get you a desk job with Stark, you know,” she offers, her tone indicating she already knows what he’s going to say.  
  
“Thanks, but no,” he says predictably. Natasha works for Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, but Steve refuses to work for anyone who used to manufacture weapons and still isn’t completely transparent about spending. There’s that whole R&D department Stark doesn’t release specifics on, and Steve thinks it’s likely they’re still developing weapons. He’d rather take 100 temporary janitorial positions and live off rice forever than possibly be complicit in warmongering.  
  
“Well, then you should set up a profile with a job finder,” Natasha suggests. “It’s like the temp agency, but you don’t have to deal with Brock Rumlow.”  
  
“Like a headhunter?” Steve asks. “Don’t you have to pay them?”  
  
“A nominal fee,” she allows. Steve huffs a little. What Natasha thinks of as a “nominal” fee is not nominal to him. “It’s really not much,” she insists. “Twenty bucks a month?”  
  
He doesn’t want to tell her that he can’t even afford twenty bucks a month, not really. “I don’t know, I’ve got this thing set up with Sam right now,” he says instead. “And it’s almost spring. Commissions usually pick up in the spring.”  
  
“Hmm,” Natasha says, but Steve gets distracted by an email from Peggy, one of his best friends who went back to London six months ago. He misses her almost painfully, especially because she’d left just as he was working up the nerve to act on the feelings he had for her.  
  
When a delivery man shows up with Chinese and Natasha pretends she ordered way too much and is sick of kung pao chicken and offers it to him, he knows what she’s doing, and his pride wants him to refuse, but, well, his stomach disagrees. It smells amazing. Natasha knows how to get him, that’s for sure.  
  
  


One thing that Steve really, really enjoys about this janitorial job is that he can pop his headphones in and listen to music or podcasts or audiobooks. He _should_ listen to podcasts or audiobooks; instead, he only listens to music. It’s just easier to scrub toilets with Walk the Moon telling him to work that body.  
  
Steve bobs his head as he wipes at the mirror. He hates this bathroom. It’s way back in a corner, so it doesn’t get used as much as the main bathroom and isn’t as dirty, but the mirror is higher up the wall. He can’t reach the top of it and it’s humiliating. So far no one’s mentioned the strip at the top that’s still dusty, but it’s probably only a matter of time.  
  
He’s huffing and straining and up on his tiptoes, swearing a little under his breath, and he doesn’t hear the door open because of the aforementioned huffing and puffing and music blaring in his headphones. But then all of a sudden, there’s a guy behind him in the mirror, and Steve lets out the highest-pitched shriek he’s ever made. His heart gives an ominous little shiver and he tries to take a few deep breaths to get it back on track.  
  
“Sorry!” The guy apologizes immediately, backing away. Steve clutches at his chest, ripping an earbud out.  
  
“Oh my God,” he pants. “You scared the shit out of me.”  
  
“I’m really sorry,” the guy says, holding up a hand. His eyes are wide and incredibly nice, though the bags under them are a little distracting from how gorgeous they are, but, well, this is the VA. He’s wearing heavy long sleeves even though it’s April and already almost seventy degrees and muggy outside.  
  
“No, sorry, I had my music too loud,” Steve says. “I didn’t hear you come in.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured,” the guy murmurs.  
  
There’s an awkward pause. “Um, I can get out if you need to…” Steve gestures toward the stall. The guy flushes.  
  
“Oh. Uh…it’s not that big of a deal.”  
  
Steve raises an eyebrow. “It’s not?”  
  
“I mean—” The guy makes a face. “I just…came in here. For, um. Quiet.”  
  
Steve understands immediately, and then he feels worse. This guy came in here for a breather, probably after some kind of intense counseling session, and Steve just screamed bloody murder in his face. Well, more like the bottom of his chin; Steve’s not tall enough to actually scream in his face. The guy is nicely tall. Handsomely so.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve says awkwardly. “I’m done here; I’ll get out of your way.”  
  
“You’re done?” The guy asks. “The mirror’s still…” He trails off, biting his plump lip as he puts Steve’s height and the dirty mirror together. Now it’s Steve’s turn to flush. “Want me to get it?” The guy asks, making humiliation swoop hot in Steve’s stomach.  
  
“No,” he snaps. “I can get by on my own.”  
  
“Okay,” the guy says hesitantly. But then he looks back at the strip at the top of the mirror. “It’s just…that mirror’s been dirty for weeks.”  
  
Steve blows out a breath. “I’ll get a ladder, okay? You happy?”  
  
“You can just hand me the glass cleaner and I’ll do it right now,” the guy points out. “Take me five seconds.”  
  
“This is my _job_ ,” Steve says angrily. “I don’t need help.”  
  
The guy holds up his hand again. “Alright, pal,” he acquiesces. “Sorry.”  
  
Steve feels embarrassed. He’s embarrassed that he _does_ , actually, need a little help doing his job, and he’s embarrassed he just took out his embarrassment on a stranger who not only didn’t get the quiet moment he came to the bathroom for but also is kindly offering to help, and he’s embarrassed that this stranger is so attractive and flustering him.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve says. They’ve probably apologized to each other more in one conversation than most people do in their entire lives. He grabs his cart and heaves it toward the door, tossing a “See you around,” over his shoulder. He tries not to remember the blue of the guy’s eyes later, but he’s not terribly successful.  
  
The next day, when he gets to that bathroom, the top of the mirror is clean.  
  
  


A week later, his janitor gig is almost up—he’s got a week left, and that’s it. He’s spent the last week simultaneously hoping to avoid the hot, mirror-cleaning stranger and somewhat stalking the back hallway bathroom in hopes of seeing him again. He’s either won or lost, depending on which part of him thinks about the fact that he hasn’t seen the guy again.  
  
He’s gotten two commissions, but that doesn’t exactly put food on the table, so he’s back to the old grindstone of job searching. If he has to type his work experience into a tiny box one more time he’s probably going to scream.  
  
Steve opens up his email and sees a new message from an address he doesn’t recognize telling him he has a new message at _premiererecruits.com_. He doesn’t know what premiererecruits.com is, and he hesitates a second. Is it some kind of phishing scam?  
  
But it says it’s a possible job match, so he clicks on the link. It’s some kind of career recruiting site, and he’s mystified. He never signed up for this. And then Natasha’s face blinks into his head. He sighs. He should have known she’d take it upon herself to sign him up. And now that he thinks of it, he remembers her asking to use his computer a few weeks ago. She probably uploaded his resume and everything.  
  
There’s some kind of blinking notification telling him about a possible job match. What job match he _should_ have is redesigning this heinous website, but that’s not an option anyone’s giving him, so he shakes his head and clicks on it.  
  
_This is a bit of a strange request_ , the message from FredBarnes63 says. _But I have a son your age starting college soon. He’s recently been discharged from the Army and has some difficulties. We’re not looking for a caretaker, exactly, but it would be nice if he had someone with him, especially at night, to help him out, and you’ve got the VA on your resume._  
  
Steve shrugs a little to himself. That doesn’t sound terrible. Especially if the guy just needed someone to walk him to class or something, and stay overnight—Steve could still paint during the day. He took care of his mom when she got really sick; being a caretaker, or whatever title they want to come up with, isn’t exactly using his art degree, but at least he’d be getting paid and would still have time to use his art degree on his own time, and he’s at least got an idea of how emotionally draining it can be.  
  
_He has financial aid from his time in the Army that covers about half his tuition, and his housing and books are paid for. Honestly, his father and I can pay for the other half of tuition, but he refuses to take our money. We don’t want him to have to take out student loans, but he’s not 25 yet so he’s not eligible for Pell grants._  
  
Steve has no idea why this part is included. If they think he’s got some kind of money to help them out, they’re absolutely wrong. He feels bad for the kid, sure he does—Steve himself got through college on grants and scholarships based on financial need—but he doesn’t see what any of this has to do with him.  
  
_If he’s married he’ll be able to get grants instead of loans, and you already live in New York and your resume mentions working with LGBT campaigns. I know that doesn’t mean you’re gay, but I thought it might mean you’d at least be open to the idea. You would only have to stay married for at least a year, and then he’ll turn 25 and be eligible for Pell grants. We will pay you a monthly stipend and all the wedding costs, of course, and housing would be covered._  
  
Steve stares at the screen, open-mouthed. What kind of joke is this? But the message has an email address and a phone number. Is it a prank? What would even happen if he called the number? He’s not _going_ to, of course. He’s not even considering this.  
  
Naturally, Natasha waltzes into his room just then, giving a knock on his door as an afterthought after she’s already walking through it.  
  
“Natasha,” he says. “What kind of career recruiter did you sign me up for? Look at this.”  
  
She leans over his shoulder and reads the message. Steve watches from the corner of his eye as her eyebrows rise higher and higher.  
  
“Did you accidentally sign me up for some kind of…some kind of… _escort service_?” He asks. “That’s fine for a career choice if that’s what someone wants, but that’s not what _I_ want. I’d be a terrible escort! I have no ability—”  
  
“I did not sign you up for an escort service,” Natasha cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “This is a perfectly reputable, above-the-table career website. This is an…interesting request.”  
  
“No,” he says immediately, understanding that tone in her voice all too well. “Natasha. I am not dialing that number.”  
  
“You don’t at least want to see if it’s real?” She tempts, and Steve has to admit she’s kind of got him there. He _does_ wonder if it’s real. What kind of person goes to a job website to find a fake husband for their son? Natasha grins triumphantly and snatches his phone off the desk beside his computer.  
  
“You can’t use your own phone?” Steve squawks. He doesn’t want a potential serial killer to have his number. Natasha, on the other hand, could probably fight one off.  
  
“If it’s real, you’ll want them to have your number just in case,” she says, dialing. She holds up a finger to stop any protest he’s about to make and puts the phone on speaker. It rings three times.  
  
“Hello?” A woman asks. Natasha gives Steve a look. He glares at her. _Speak_ , she mouths.  
  
“Hello,” Steve says cautiously. “Um. Is this…FredBarnes63?”  
  
“Yes!” The woman answers, sounding excited. “Oh, is this Steve Rogers?”  
  
“Uh. Yes.”  
  
“Hello!” She continues. “You have a lovely voice.” Before Steve can respond, she’s going on. “Now, I know it’s a very strange situation. But it really is the best solution we could think of.”  
  
“Really?” Steve asks incredulously before he can stop himself. “The best solution you could think of was to hire someone to marry your son?”  
  
She’s quiet for a minute and Steve cringes a little. He didn’t mean to be so rude, even if this does seem absolutely ridiculous to him. “James has had a very hard time for the past year,” she says softly. “And I will do anything to make things easier for him, no matter how strange.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”  
  
She laughs a little. “You sound very sweet, Steve Rogers. I’m sorry if I creeped you out with my message.”  
  
Natasha is giving him a very pointed look at the side of his face, and Steve is trying hard to ignore it. But…well. He can hear the absolute defeat in this woman’s voice, and he feels bad, and next thing he knows…  
  
“But how would it even work?” He asks.  
  
“Well,” FredBarnes63 says slowly. “You’d need to be married by June, because that’s the deadline for submitting his financial aid materials.”  
  
“June?” Steve echoes.  
  
“It’s quick,” she agrees. “But it wouldn’t be a big thing. Probably just a courthouse kind of thing, with a backyard reception for appearances.”  
  
“I—I don’t think…” He doesn’t know how to say _this sounds batshit to me, lady_ in a nicer way.  
  
“Now, housing would be paid for, since that’s covered in his GI stuff, and then we’ll pay you each month. I know $3000 a month doesn’t sound like much, so we could negotiate that a little.”  
  
Steve chokes a little. $3000 a month and he wouldn’t even have to pay rent? Natasha is giving him a look that tells him she thinks he should do it. He makes a face at her. He’s not going to get married to a stranger just for money.  
  
“Uh, ma’am,” Steve says. “Does your son _know_ you’re doing this?”  
  
There’s a slight pause. “Winifred,” she says. “Call me Winifred. And…yes?”  
  
“Yes?” He clarifies. She sounds unsure.  
  
“Well. I think he thought his father and I were joking when we told him. But he _did_ say if we could find someone, he’d do it.”  
  
“Well, ma’am—Winifred,” Steve corrects himself. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can do that. It’s—” Natasha flicks him in the side of the head and he gives her an affronted look. _Meet the guy_ , she mouths, eyes flashing. “I’m sorry, could you please give me a moment?” He says to Winifred. He takes the phone off speaker and covers it with his hand.  
  
“Natasha,” he hisses. “I am _not_ doing this.”  
  
“Steve, your housing would be paid for _and_ you’d get money every month! You could focus on your art full-time!” She points out. “So you have to suffer through a year of some weirdo. Big deal. You can save up some money and build up your portfolio.”  
  
“What if he’s a _dangerous_ weirdo?” He asks.  
  
Natasha waves a hand around. “I’ll check him out first.”  
  
“This is—Natasha, this is ridiculous! People had to fight for marriage rights and I’m just going to get married for no reason?”  
  
“Marriage equality,” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow. “Straight people get married for ridiculous reasons all the time.”  
  
Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, huffing. He doesn’t have a snappy retort to that. “But what about my portion of the rent?” He asks triumphantly. “I’d just be leaving you and Clint in the lurch.”  
  
“We can find someone to move in easily,” Natasha says, unimpressed with his argument. “Clint’s not-sister can take your spot.” Steve knows Kate would be thrilled by the idea of moving in with Clint and Natasha and, most importantly, moving out of her parents’ house. He’s trying to think of another reason besides _this is outrageous_ when Natasha puts a hand on his arm. “Steve. This could be an amazing opportunity, just dumped in your lap. Don’t brush it off. Please. At least meet the guy? Get his name so I can check him out?”  
  
Steve hesitates. He knows his friends worry about him keeping jobs because of his health. His medicines get expensive, and he has shitty welfare insurance. Steady money would be helpful.  
  
“Please,” Natasha repeats. Steve sighs and puts the phone to his ear.  
  
“Winifred? Would I be able to meet James before I agree to anything?”  
  
  


“I cannot believe you’re doing this,” Sam’s voice in his ear says all the things Steve’s own thoughts are saying. “ _Steve.”_  
  
“I know,” Steve says. “I think—I think Natasha put me under some kind of spell to get me to even agree to this.”  
  
“I mean, Barnes is a nice guy,” Sam says. Naturally, Steve immediately told Sam what was going on and the name of the guy, and Sam knows him from the VA but can’t say anything else because of confidentiality. Steve tried finding him on Facebook, but he didn’t seem to have a profile. That made Clint blink incredulously and ask, muffled around a mouthful of food,  
  
“Who doesn’t have Facebook?”  
  
“But this is still weird,” Sam goes on. “And is this even _legal_?”  
  
“I’m not totally sure,” Steve admits. “It doesn’t seem to be, strictly speaking, but I think there would have to be some kind of audit or something with FAFSA to prove anything.”  
  
“I mean, moving out of that dump you guys live in would be great,” Sam says. “I swear those walls are half-mold, and that’s definitely not good for anyone, especially you. But still.”  
  
“I’m just meeting him, Sam,” Steve insists. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to do it.”  
  
“But I know you,” Sam points out. “If you’re even meeting him, you’re at least half convinced already.”  
  
Steve doesn’t say anything and Sam exhales loudly. “I’m at the restaurant,” Steve cuts him off before he can say anything else. “I’ll tell you how it goes.” He hangs up before Sam can protest any further.  
  
Steve takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. This is going to be the strangest blind date of his life. He walks in and gives his name to the hostess. She leads the way to a table, and Steve’s stomach feels full of butterflies. He can’t believe he’s even going this far.  
  
He gets to the table and sees…the mirror guy from the VA.  
  
“You?” He asks stupidly. James raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, if it isn’t the little punk who wouldn’t take my help.”  
  
That irritates Steve, even if it is true. Maybe especially because it’s true. He bristles, but James cuts him off before he can say anything. “Can you please just sit down?” He asks, sounding weary. “This is…awkward.”  
  
A little bit of the fight goes out of Steve at the words and James’s tone of voice. “It is pretty awkward,” Steve agrees, taking the seat across from James. “Um. So. I’m Steve.” He holds out his hand and James shakes.  
  
“Bucky.”  
  
“Bucky?” Steve asks.  
  
James/Bucky rolls his eyes. “I know, it sounds kinda stupid, but it’s stuck with me since I was a kid.”  
  
“Your mom called you James.”  
  
“Well, she named me, so she can call me whatever she wants,” he shoots back. “But I go by Bucky.”  
  
“Okay,” Steve says. “Bucky.”  
  
An awkward silence falls between them and lasts while the waitress pounces, bringing water and menus. When she leaves again, Steve looks at Bucky.  
  
“So, really? This is for real?”  
  
Bucky sighs. He stares at his water glass for a minute. “Yeah. This is for real,” he finally says quietly. “I know it’s—it’s weird. I just. I didn’t really think my parents were serious, but…” He shrugs. Steve shrugs back. They both consult their menus and Steve tries to play it cool when he sees the prices. Okay, so he’ll be back to rice—and whatever leftovers he gets out of this—until they start paying him.  
  
_If_. If he decides to do it.  
  
Maybe Bucky won’t even like him. Maybe Bucky will back out and Steve won’t have to.  
  
They don’t talk much after they order and wait for their food. The waitress brings out a basket of bread and Steve shreds a piece for a few minutes while Bucky looks out the window.  
  
“I used to be really good at this,” Bucky says suddenly, making Steve jump a little.  
  
“You’ve been in this situation before?” Steve asks skeptically. Bucky rolls his eyes.  
  
“Not _this_ , specifically. But I mean—dates. Small talk. Putting people at ease.” He smiles bitterly. “Now I’m usually the reason they’re uncomfortable.”  
  
“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Steve lies. He does, but not for any reason he probably thinks. Steve is uncomfortable because Bucky is gorgeous and Steve feels awkward. Bucky gives him a look like he doesn’t believe Steve and Steve shrugs. “I mean, the situation is uncomfortable.”  
  
Bucky laughs a little. The waitress brings their food and Steve winces a little internally at the bowl of pasta in front of him. Red sauce wasn’t a great choice. His ulcers will hate him tonight when he’s trying to sleep.  
  
They both pick at their food, not talking. Finally, Bucky clears his throat. Steve looks at him expectantly. “Um, I hope I didn’t offend you with the mirror thing,” he says awkwardly. “I just thought…you needed help.”  
  
Steve stares down at his pasta, face heating up. “I’m not helpless just because I’m small and sick,” he says.  
  
“I didn’t say you were _helpless_ ,” Bucky protests. “I just saw that you needed help.”  
  
“You _assumed_ I needed help,” Steve corrects, hackles starting to rise.  
  
“And was I wrong?” Bucky points out. Steve drops his fork with a clatter.  
  
“You have no idea what it’s like for everyone to constantly assume you need help,” he spits, angrier than he should be because of the awkwardness of this whole night. “Let me guess—you were a jock your whole life. You’re strong and healthy and you’re good looking and rich so I bet you were really popular in school. You don’t have to worry about people pitying you and thinking you can’t do anything for yourself.” He’s on his feet now, chair pushed away from the table. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this,” he says, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”  
  
Bucky stares at him for a minute, jaw clenched, and then he brings his left hand up to rest on the table. Steve watches, confused, as he pulls off the glove on it, and his stomach drops when he sees the metal.  
  
A prosthetic.  
  
Steve feels sick with shame. He’s pretty sure everything he said was true of Bucky his whole life before he joined the Army—he has the look of someone who always had easy confidence, and he said he used to be good at dates and small talk—but it obviously hasn’t been true for a while.  
  
“You’re probably right,” Bucky says. “This is ridiculous.”  
  
Steve hangs his head. “Bucky—”  
  
“You couldn’t handle how messed up I am, anyway. It’s too weird for you. I get it.”  
  
Steve shakes his head. “That’s not what I was saying, I promise. I can handle anything.”  
  
Bucky gives him a look. “I wake up screaming in the middle of the night.”  
  
“I get nightmares sometimes, too,” Steve insists stubbornly. He does—waking up and finding his mother’s body cold in her bed; doctors’ visits and being hooked up to machines when he was just a kid.  
  
“Sometimes I have bad days and don’t say a single word,” Bucky continues. His voice sounds challenging. He’s thinking what Steve was earlier—he wants Steve to back down first so he doesn’t have to.  
  
“Everybody has bad days,” Steve fires back, eyes narrowing. “I have depression. And I have a weak heart and a weak immune system, so there are days I literally can’t get out of bed.”  
  
“I snore,” Bucky says with gritted teeth.  
  
“I’ll put my deaf ear to you.”  
  
They’re glaring at each other, Steve standing, Bucky’s metal hand clearly visible on the table, when the waitress comes bustling back. She falters at the scene before her.  
  
“Is, um. How’s everything tasting?” She asks hesitantly.  
  
“Wonderful,” Bucky says, not taking his eyes off Steve.  
  
“Okay,” she says nervously. “Will you be wanting any dessert menus?”  
  
“You know, I think we will,” Steve tells her, eyes locked with Bucky. “We just got engaged.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky would be eligible for the GI Bill, but there's a cap on private institutions, so he'd still need more money to cover tuition.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little blown away by everyone's response to the first chapter, wow! Thank you! This chapter has some really brief and not in-depth discussion of conditions of a POW camp, just as a head's-up.

Steve cannot believe this is happening to him. He’s following Bucky off the train down a residential street to go meet his parents. Steve’s…future in-laws? He can’t believe he’s doing this. What was he _thinking_?

Well, he knows what he was thinking—he was thinking about Bucky’s smug, stubborn face. He was thinking about everyone always thinking he’d back down because he’s small or because he’s sick or because he doesn’t really know how to fight.

He’s never run from fights. This does seem a little different, though.

Bucky’s parents live in a predictably huge house. Maybe they’ll be investment bankers and Steve will have a principled reason for backing out. He can’t very well take money from the Wolf of Wall Street, especially since he participated in Occupy Wall Street.

Bucky pauses outside the front door and looks over Steve, who’s frantically trying to shove his hair off his forehead, before shrugging and shaking his head. “What does it matter?” He asks rhetorically. Steve glares. What exactly is he finding fault with in Steve’s appearance? Steve stops messing with his hair, mostly out of spite.

Bucky opens the door and waves Steve inside. “Shoes off,” he orders, kicking off his own. Steve obeys, feeling awkward about the hole in his sock. He didn’t intend to show up looking like he was trying out for a production of _Oliver_.

The stairs are lined with pictures of Bucky and three girls. Steve assumes they’re Bucky’s sisters—they all have the same mouth, and Steve wonders if it’s creepy for him to notice that considering some of the thoughts he had about Bucky’s lips between seeing him at the VA and…getting engaged to him.

“Ma?” Bucky shouts.

“In here!” Winifred calls back. “Did you meet him? How’d it go? Is he—” She stops talking when they come into view, her mouth hanging open almost comically. She’s the sort of mother Steve thought only existed on TV: kind of short, a little plump, with hair tied up in a pony-tail, one of those necklaces with little human-shaped pendants filled with birthstones strung along her collarbone, an apron around her waist proclaiming her _#1 MOM_ and covered in handprints.

“Oh!” She cries. “Hello! Steve?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, because she’s not any kind of mom he’s used to but his own mom drilled manners into him.

“Come on in and sit down,” she instructs. “George is in the living room.” She leads them through the kitchen to a spacious room with picture windows, a fireplace, a piano, several bookshelves, and plenty of seating. It kind of reminds Steve of a room out of _Pride and Prejudice_ or something.

A man with Bucky’s cleft chin and reading glasses on his nose looks up when they come in. “Hello,” he says curiously.

“This is Steve,” Winifred tells him pointedly.

“Oh!” He says. “Steve!”

Bucky huffs at his side. “Ma, let Steve sit down,” he says. Winifred glances down to the grip she has on Steve’s arm and releases him.

“Sorry about that.” She laughs, a nice little laugh. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Steve declines. He hopes this isn’t going to be a long visit. Is this an _interview_? It is, technically, a job; they’d sort of be his employers. He looks down at his big toe poking through his sock and winces. Off to a great start. Winifred ushers Steve onto a love seat, and then she makes Bucky sit next to him. They both sigh a little at that.

“James? You want some tea?”

“No, thanks, Ma. Why don’t you sit down, too? I’ll get you something if you want a drink.” Bucky smiles at her, and Steve’s a little taken aback. He doesn’t know if he’s seen Bucky smile at all. It’s a very nice smile. He scolds himself. _Stay focused_.

“Oh, no.” Winifred waves a hand around. “Let’s all just sit and chat.”

She sits beside her husband, who sets his book aside and tucks his glasses into the pocket of his shirt. “So, Steve,” Winifred says brightly. “Tell us about yourself.”

Steve swallows. “Um.” He doesn’t know what to say. “I’m Steve Rogers. I’m twenty-five. I graduated from NYU. I’m an artist.”

“What kind of art?” George asks. “Sculpture? Paint?”

“Oh—” Steve wasn’t really expecting a follow-up about modes. Usually if people have a question about his major, it’s something along the lines of _and how do you intend to make any money doing that_? “Um, paint and charcoal. Drawings. I actually draw more than I paint these days.”

“We’ll have to have you paint us something for the wall!” Winifred says excitedly, gesturing at an empty spot on the wall. “Since James made us take down his—”

“ _Ma_ ,” Bucky cuts her off harshly, shaking his head. George gives him a dirty look and he presses his lips together. There’s an awkward pause.

“Well,” Winifred finally says, her cheer a little more forced now. “Why don’t we talk details?”

“Sure,” Steve says, relieved. The sooner they do this, the sooner he can tell them he’s changed his mind and get the hell out of Dodge.

“We can’t wait too long,” Winifred reminds him apologetically. “I think we could probably get everything together in a week, since we’re keeping everything small. Will your family want to be involved?”

Steve feels a little jolt in his stomach. Winifred is looking at him guilelessly, not intending to make Steve feel like something just punched him, but the reminder that this is a wedding and family is expected hurts.

“I don’t have…any family,” Steve says haltingly. Winifred, George, and Bucky all look alarmed by that. “My—well, my father died before I was even a year old, and my mother died about four years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Winifred murmurs, looking like she really means it. Steve nods, unsure of what to say. He can feel Bucky staring at the side of his head, and he studiously avoids eye contact. He doesn’t need Bucky’s pity.

“But you have friends,” Bucky says. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, I have friends,” Steve answers, feeling his hackles rise. He’s not completely pathetic.

“Of course you do,” Winifred says soothingly. “Will they want to come?”

“Uh.” Steve is sure they will. Natasha certainly will. Clint pretty much goes where Natasha goes. Sam will want to come to be supportive, even though he’ll be weirded out by the whole thing. “Yeah, probably.”

“Wonderful,” Winifred says. “Just write down their names and I’ll put them down for the reception.”

“Now, Steve,” George breaks in. “Are you gay? We don’t want our son to get stuck with some homophobe who’s just after money.”

“As opposed to a non-homophobe who’s just after money,” Bucky mutters, and Steve snorts a little despite himself.

“I’m bisexual?” Steve says. He hasn’t, historically, gotten a very good reception in telling older people that. Or possibly pansexual, but he’s not so sure he wants to get into a discussion about gender with these rich middle-aged people. Winifred nods sagely.

“Uh-huh, we know all about that,” she says. “We read a whole book about gay people when James told us he’s gay.”

Steve can’t help it. He looks at Bucky. Bucky shakes his head a little, like _you can’t even imagine_ , and Steve holds in a laugh. Steve’s mom was always a bit of a radical, and she’d taught him all about different sexualities when he was nine and she was dissatisfied with his school’s curriculum. He never came out to her so much as told her about crushes he had that were sometimes boys and sometimes girls.

“James already has an apartment picked out,” Winifred says, steering them back to the topic at hand. “It’s very nice. And it has two bedrooms, so you two can…figure out your own sleeping arrangements.”

Steve feels himself blushing and he sneaks a glance at Bucky from the corner of his eye. Bucky’s steadfastly staring straight ahead. Before anyone can say anything else, a door slams.

“Ma!” A girl yells. Her next sentence is drowned out by another girl’s voice talking over her.

“It’s not even your business, Beth!”

“Girls,” Winifred scolds, standing up from the couch. “What are you screaming about?” It seems a little hypocritical, since she's also shouting.

“Beth’s just being nosy!” The second girl insists.

“Bailey got a detention and she won’t tell me why!” The first girl shouts.

George frowns and Winifred puts her hands on her hips. Two of the girls from the pictures on the wall come crashing into the room.

“Detention?” George asks disapprovingly.

Another door opens and a baby immediately starts wailing. No one even reacts to that.

“She had to miss practice!” The first girl, who’s obviously younger, reveals.

“Bailey, what happened?” Winifred asks.

The baby’s cries are getting closer, and a little boy comes toddling into the room. “Bampa!” He says excitedly, running straight for George, who scoops him up. The third girl from the pictures pokes her head in the room, the baby making all the noise on her hip.

“Hi,” she calls to the room at large.

“There’s Grandpa’s boy,” George is saying to the little boy in his lap.

“It’s not that big of a deal!” Bailey is insisting. The baby’s still screaming away.

“Becks?” A guy calls.

“In here!” The girl with the baby in her arms yells back.

Steve cannot believe how loud this whole affair is. Everyone’s just talking over each other, and he has no idea how Winifred is having a discussion with the two younger girls while all this racket’s going on. He feels his shoulders starting to hunch a little.

“Hey!” Bucky yells through the noise. Everyone looks at him and he gestures toward Steve. “Come on, guys.”

“Who’s that?” The girl with the baby asks curiously. Now everyone’s staring at Steve. A tall, good-looking guy appears in the doorway behind her.

“This is Steve,” Bucky says. He doesn’t add anything else, and everyone keeps staring. Bucky opens his mouth and then closes it.

“His fiancé,” Steve says, just to be a shit.

That plan backfires on him intensely, because suddenly there’s a lot of shrieking and noise. “Fiancé?!” One of the girls screams.

“We didn’t even know you had a boyfriend!” Someone else says. The baby is _still_ crying.

“Hey, congratulations,” the guy says, a little smirk on his face that says he knows exactly what’s going on here.

“Alright, everybody hush,” Winifred orders. “We’re being so rude right now, my goodness. Come in and sit down so we can introduce everyone. Steve, I’m so sorry. I’d like to say it’s not always like this, but I’m afraid it usually is.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says weakly.

“This is Becca and her husband Mark, and that’s their son Jamie and their daughter Ella. Then we have Bailey, who is a senior in high school, and Beth, who is a junior. Everyone, this is Steve, and yes, he’s Bucky’s fiancé.” Winifred does the introductions. The only thing Steve can think is _that’s a lot of B’s_.

Becca is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Obviously, she and her husband know what’s really going on here, but the younger girls don’t seem to. They’re both looking at him curiously, their argument tabled.

“Were you in the Army too?” Bailey asks.

“No,” Steve says, probably sounding a little defensive.

“How long have you had a secret boyfriend?” Beth asks Bucky.

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Long enough for us to get married.”

Steve scoffs a little. “Smooth,” he mutters. Bucky gives him a dirty look.

“Do you have a job, Steve?” Becca asks challengingly. Oh, she definitely knows what’s going on, and she does not like it. Steve, face heating up, falters a little, half-glancing at Bucky, and Bucky turns the dirty look on his sister.

“He’s an artist,” he snaps. “Back off, Becks.” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. Bucky actually sounds protective, like a fiancé should.

“Wow, an artist?” Beth asks. “Can you draw me?”

“Um, sure,” Steve says.

“Do you have your art in a gallery?” Mark asks.

“No,” Steve says, feeling stupid. And then he adds, “Not right now.” It’s not a lie; none of his work is in a gallery right now. It does, however, kind of imply that his work being in a gallery is a thing that happens, which is not true except for his senior showcase at NYU.

“That’ll be cool when they put you in the Met someday and we can tell everyone our brother-in-law’s a famous painter,” Beth says. It’s kind of nice to see the younger girls, at least, are pretty accepting of the idea of their brother marrying Steve. Not that he really cares if they accept them into their family or not; he just doesn’t want to spend the next year completely miserable because they hate him. Not that he’ll necessarily have to spend time with them, since the marriage is just for show.

And he’s not even doing the whole marriage thing.

Steve laughs a little and pushes his hair off his forehead. “Well, ending up in the Met would be cool. I’m not so sure that’ll ever happen.”

“A lot of painters are completely destitute during their lives and don’t get famous until after they’re dead, and they usually die in some horrible way,” Bailey points out. Her voice seems a little barbed. Maybe they’re not as accepting as he thought.

“Wow, Bay, thank you for that,” Bucky says sarcastically. Bailey shrugs unrepentantly.

Steve takes a deep breath. He’s about to make his escape—it’s getting late, he should get home, etc., etc.—when the little boy on George’s lap gets restless. He scrambles down and across the carpet to latch onto Bucky’s legs.

“Bucky,” he says insistently. “Play.”

Bucky leans down and scoops him up. “Play?” He asks. “We’re talking, bud.”

“Nooo,” Jamie protests. “Bounce.”

“Bounce, huh?” Bucky laughs and settles Jamie on his legs. “Alright.” He bounces him up and down, and every third bounce he opens his legs like he’s going to let Jamie crash to the floor but catches him with his arms. Jamie shrieks with laughter immediately.

Steve doesn’t understand what’s happening in his chest. He’s not really a kid person—he likes kids fine, in theory, and has always had hazy ideas of someday being a father, but he hasn’t been around younger children very much in his life—but there’s something about watching Bucky, whose face is open and relaxed for a change, laughing and playing with this tiny kid who obviously adores him. It’s probably just that Bucky’s an attractive guy and some long-latent part of Steve has a biological attraction to offspring or something. He took a few anthropology classes; that seems likely.

“Steve,” Winifred calls his attention away. “Is there a day next week that doesn’t work for you?”

“Sorry, for what?” Steve asks.

“For the wedding.”

Bucky stops bouncing Jamie. “Sheesh, Ma,” he says. “Just spring it like that.”

“Uh, I—I—well,” Steve sputters.

“What’s wrong?” Becca asks. “Cold feet?”

It’s the exact tone Bucky was using at the restaurant—challenging, _taunting_ —and it’s the exact tone to get Steve on the defensive. Cold feet? Steven Grant Rogers? Never.

“Any day works for me,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Becca. “Though I think Saturday might work better for my friends to get off work.”

“Wonderful,” Winifred says. “You’ll both have to go in Friday at the latest to get the license filed and everything because of the waiting period. But Saturday it is.”

Somehow, Steve never manages to back out before he leaves. He gets home, feeling completely dazed, and finds Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Riley, Sam’s boyfriend, gathered in his living room waiting for him.

“Hi,” Steve greets them all.

“Well?” Natasha asks.

“Um…what are you guys doing Saturday?” Steve asks. “Because I guess you’re all invited to my wedding.”

Clint starts cracking up, which is not really the response Steve was looking for. He laughs so hard he chokes, and Natasha gives him a wholly unsympathetic look. Sam looks worried.

“Really?” He asks. “Steve, really?”

“Hey, you said Bucky’s a good guy,” Steve reminds him.

“Yeah, but this is weird,” Sam says, at the same time Natasha asks,

“Bucky? Really? And he’s a grown man?”

Steve rubs his eyes. “I kept meaning to say I wasn’t going to do it,” he explains wearily. “But then…”

“Hmm,” Riley says. Everyone turns to look at him and he shrugs. “Just seems like it might be—”

“Please do not say fate,” Sam mutters.

“Fate,” Riley finishes, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam. Sam groans. Riley completely believes in things like that—fate, destiny, signs from the universe, the stars aligning—and Sam completely does not.

“I highly doubt it’s fate,” Steve says, thinking of how awkward he and Bucky were with each other. “But it _is_ free housing and $3000 a month.”

Clint whistles. “Shit, if you change your mind, sign _me_ up.”

“Well,” Natasha says. “Do you want to know more about your sweetheart?”

“Please never say that again,” Steve begs.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” she goes on like Steve didn’t say anything, reading off her phone. Clint snorts at the middle name. “Born in some podunk town in Indiana, but raised in our very own Brooklyn. Oldest son of George and Winifred, who are part of the Barnes Family Furniture chain.”

“Ohhh,” Steve says. “Okay.”

“We know family and we know furniture!” Clint sings the jingle on the annoying commercial that plays about every hour. They have stores all over New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana.

“Good student, three-sport athlete, joined the Army right out of high school just like his father and grandfather. Decorated war hero with about every award you can get, including a Purple Heart.” She gestures at Riley and Clint. “In good company, obviously.” Riley salutes. Clint takes a long drink of his coffee. “He was also awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor and a Prisoner of War medal.”

The room goes still. Any lingering brevity is gone. Sam is looking down at his hands. He knew this already, of course.

“There are a lot of news articles detailing what he went through,” Natasha continues, softer now. “But…you may not want to pull on that thread.”

“Shit,” Riley swears. “How long’s he been home?”

“Just over a year,” Natasha says. “And he spent two months in a field hospital in Afghanistan before he could even be transferred back to the states.”

Steve feels a little sick. He thinks of the bags under Bucky’s eyes, remembers the fear on Bucky’s face that day at the VA in the bathroom, and then he thinks of Bucky smiling and laughing, bouncing Jamie on his legs. Winifred had said he’d had a hard year, but this is beyond what Steve had expected.

“But the POW medal means he acted honorably while a prisoner,” Clint says. “So there’s that.”

“I don’t think we need to discuss this,” Sam cuts in.

“Wait, Sam, is this a conflict of interest or whatever? Me and him?” Steve asks. “Is he going to have to switch groups?”

“I can’t say much,” Sam says slowly. “But…no. Barnes isn’t in my group.” He gives Steve some kind of significant look, but Steve shrugs. Whatever Sam’s trying to tell him, he’s not getting it.

“Well, Kate already said she’s cool with moving in,” Clint says.

“Hey, after you’re married you can get student insurance if he’s in school, can’t you?” Riley points out.

“This is working out wonderfully,” Natasha says. Sam doesn’t look convinced.

“It just doesn’t seem very logical.”

“It’s perfectly logical,” Natasha counters. “No emotions at all. It’s a business opportunity that’s fiscally advantageous for everyone.”

“But Steve is actually a huge romantic,” Sam says hotly. “And this is not the kind of wedding Steve pictured.”

“Steve is sitting right here, guys,” Steve points out. “And that’s kind of true. But we’re not doing _any_ kind of wedding. We’re just going to have it done at the courthouse.”

Sam presses his lips together. He doesn’t like telling his friends how to live their lives, but Steve can tell he thinks this is a bad idea. And he knows Steve can tell, so he’s not saying anything because he doesn’t want Steve to get defensive. But somehow seeing Sam trying not to make Steve defensive makes Steve defensive.

He knows a psychologist would probably have a field day with his issues—stemming from his size and his health problems to probably something about growing up without a father, since that always seems to come up in psychology on TV—but he can’t seem to help himself.

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “It’s really not a big deal. It’s just a job for a year.”

And with that mentality, he decides to order new paints. Why not? He’s going to have the money and the time, soon, to really start painting again, but he needs the equipment. Just as he opens the confirmation email for the order that’s dropped his bank account to his last thirty dollars, his phone buzzes with a call from a number he doesn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” the person says. Then there’s a pause. “Uh, this is Bucky.” Steve feels a flash of what can only be described as mortification. He’s marrying the guy in nine days and didn’t even have his phone number. This is the weirdest thing he’s ever done in his entire life.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“So, we’ve got a little problem,” Bucky tells him slowly. “We can’t do it next Saturday.”

Steve’s stomach drops. He looks again at the order confirmation. No, no, no. He finally sold himself on the idea and it’s not going to happen.

“Why?” He asks, forcing his voice to stay calm.

Bucky sighs. “My sister mentioned it to my aunt. And now…we’re gonna have to do it big.”

“Uh, what?” Steve asks.

“My aunt lost it when she heard it was just gonna be a courthouse thing. That’s not…really how our family does weddings. So.” Bucky clears his throat. “It’s gonna have to be a big thing. Like, in suits and everything.”

“Suits,” Steve repeats.

“We’ll cover the cost of the suit,” Bucky mumbles, sounding embarrassed.

“I have a suit,” Steve protests. It doesn’t fit particularly well, but then again, not much does. He refuses to shop in the boy’s department anymore as a matter of personal pride.

“Uhh…” Bucky huffs out an awkward little laugh. “We have to be matching.”

“Matching?” Steve echoes. He can’t make himself stop repeating Bucky’s words back to him. Bucky groans.

“I know,” he says. “But my aunt’s a wedding planner and she’s…planning.”

“So, what, we’re gonna go get married in a church or something?”

“Outdoor venue in upstate New York,” Bucky says, like he’s reciting something. “Around dusk so the lighting will be best.”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve asks, even though he’s pretty sure Bucky isn’t.

“No,” Bucky confirms. “What, is this a deal breaker for you?”

Steve scoffs. “No.”

Neither of them say anything for an awkward beat. “Well, so, does it work for you if it’s just a week later? The Saturday after next?” Bucky asks.

“She can plan that fast?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, his tone indicating an _unfortunately_ is hovering just behind his teeth. Steve glares at the wall because Bucky isn’t there to be glared at.

“That’s fine,” Steve sighs.

“All the guest accommodations are taken care of, too,” Bucky adds. “So, like, your friends don’t have to worry about getting a hotel or driving back to the city afterward.”

“That’s…really nice,” Steve says.

“Well, keep that good feeling,” Bucky warns. “Because we have to have a wedding shower and you have to meet my whole family.”

Steve thinks of Bucky’s sisters and niece and nephew and feels a little dread kick up in his stomach. “How big is your family?”

Bucky lets out a breath. “My mom has three sisters and my dad…there’s eight of them.”

“Eight total?” Steve checks.

“Eight families. All of my aunts and uncles from both sides will be there. And I think all of my cousins except two. So…about thirty cousins. And my twenty aunts and uncles. Plus my sisters.”

“How are you possibly related to that many people?” Steve asks, actually shocked. “That’s the size of family that gets a TV show.”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky says with a little laugh. “It’s not even that many.”

“Bucky, I literally have _zero_ people on this earth that are related to me,” Steve points out.

“There’s no way that’s true,” Bucky argues. “There’s gotta be long-lost second-cousins or something like that.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I _know_ zero people that are related to me. I don’t think I even know as many people not related to me as you have in your family.”

“Oh my God, are you always this dramatic?” Bucky complains.

“I’m not dramatic!” Steve protests, kind of dramatically.

Bucky huffs at him. “Okay, fine, you’re not dramatic,” he says in that tone people use when they’re trying to placate someone. “But does that Saturday work for you? And the wedding shower would be like the Thursday before so people can come in from out of town. We need to get fitted for suits right away so they can make alterations. You’re gonna need a lot.”

“Fuck you,” Steve mutters. “Fine.”

“Can you do a suit fitting tomorrow afternoon? And we need to do the marriage license stuff, too.”

“This is why people don’t get married in two weeks,” Steve grumbles.

“Yeah, well, you’re getting a pretty sweet deal out of it,” Bucky says. “Money and you get to be married to me. There are people who would kill for that opportunity.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Steve says dryly.

And then…there’s nothing else to say. There’s another awkward pause. Steve feels like the only encounters he’s had with Bucky have been full of awkwardness. Which, to be fair, isn’t hard because they’ve only had two in-person encounters.

“Alright, well…see you tomorrow,” Bucky says. He hangs up before Steve can even respond, and Steve scoffs. Why is he doing this? He glances at his computer at the confirmation email. Right. That’s why.

  
Steve kicks off his blanket. He’s been lying awake in bed, tossing and turning, for at least an hour now. He can’t sleep. It happens pretty often, which is ridiculously irritating considering how tired he always is from his body basically fighting a constant battle against itself.

He finally gives up and sits up in his bed, grabbing his computer and his glasses off the nightstand. Natasha said there were plenty of articles on what happened to Bucky. Steve feels a little bit guilty about looking—he should probably let Bucky tell him, or something else about boundaries Sam would say—but he doesn’t foresee a lot of deep conversations with Bucky any time soon and he feels like he should go into this _marriage_ with as much information as he can get his hands on.

 _James Buchanan Barnes_ brings up a ridiculous number of results, but Steve goes first to the article whose headline boasts that it’s a “chronological events of Sergeant Barnes’ heroic efforts as a POW.”

Steve ends up wishing he hadn’t read it. The article is trying to make it seem like they’re reporting it to tell everyone what a hero Bucky is, but there’s a weird, almost gleeful tone to the whole thing—look at these terrible things that happened to someone else, it seems to be saying. Read about how awful he was treated. Read about how he drew the guards’ attention to himself and took beatings for other prisoners. Read about how his arm was injured in the firefight that led to their capture and his captors left it untreated the entire three months he was prisoner, leading to its amputation after his rescue. Read about how his family thought he was dead and his sister named her son after him. Read about his memory loss and how he didn’t know his own name when he was rescued. Read about the months he spent in a field hospital, waking up screaming because he thought he was still in the cells. Read about his breakdown at his Medal of Honor ceremony and how his father had to escort him out of the room.

Steve closes the article—without watching the video of _Sergeant Barnes’ heartbreaking meltdown_ , thank you very much—and puts his computer back on his nightstand, taking his glasses off slowly. He stares at the ceiling for a long time and he hardly sleeps at all.

Something must show on his face the next day when he meets Bucky at the tailor, because Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Bucky says cheerfully. Steve doesn’t know how to respond. Normally he’d get mad, but he just keeps thinking of the medical experiments Bucky’s captors did on him. Bucky’s face falls a little and he nods a few times.

“Who told you?” He asks quietly. “Or did you just google me?”

“I googled,” Steve admits, not even trying to pretend he doesn’t know what Bucky’s talking about. “I’m really sorry.”

Bucky bites his lip, hard, and looks away. He takes a deep breath and shrugs. “It’s not a secret,” he says, his voice forcibly calm. “But I liked you better when you were being a dick.”

“I wasn’t being a dick— _you_ were,” Steve says automatically. Bucky cracks a smile, though it’s not very happy.

“Stick to that, alright? I don’t want…” He shrugs again and clears this throat. “Don’t be feeling all sorry for me.”

That’s something Steve can fully understand. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to tell you I could never look like shit next to you because you look like something _worse_ than shit.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re a punk,” he informs Steve as he opens the door to the tailor. He closes it before Steve can walk through behind him and laughs uproariously, like he’s a paragon of comedy. Steve shakes his head.

“Jerk,” he mutters.

They get lunch after their fitting and Bucky pulls out a tablet so they can start filling out the marriage license paperwork. “Do you want your middle name on it?” Bucky asks, frowning in concentration as he fills in the boxes. Steve watches him use his left hand and wonders if he has to wear the glove to use touch-screens.

“Do you?” Steve throws back. Bucky rolls his eyes without even looking up.

“It’s where my nickname comes from,” he points out. “What _is_ your middle name?”

“Grant,” Steve supplies. “How did we meet?”

The gets Bucky to look up. “Uh, it was yesterday. I thought I was the one with amnesia.”

Steve can’t help but laugh a little at that. He probably shouldn’t, considering everything Bucky went through, but Steve can appreciate a little gallows humor at your own expense.

“I _mean_ how are we going to tell people we met?” Steve clarifies. “I’m assuming you don’t want to tell all two million of your family members the real story.”

“Oh.” Bucky considers for a minute. “Well…we could just say you were working at the VA,” he suggests a little hesitantly. “That’ll be easy to remember since it’s sorta true. And they won’t ask very many follow-up questions because they’ll be afraid I’ll freak out.”

Steve winces a little at the slight edge that creeps into Bucky’s voice. “Okay. We met at the VA. I was cleaning the bathroom and you mocked my size.”

“I tried to take a leak and found some twink shaking his ass and refusing my help,” Bucky corrects. Steve’s face immediately goes red at Bucky’s description.

“You’re not really going to call me a twink in front of your family, are you?” Steve asks.

Bucky snorts. “Half of ‘em wouldn’t even know what it means. And I don’t think it’s really accurate, anyway.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks, surprised. Bucky’s certainly not the first person to call him a twink. Bucky shrugs.

“You’re small, but you’re way too much of an asshole to be a twink.”

“You know, most people say I’m a really nice guy,” Steve informs him, not even annoyed by Bucky’s attitude anymore. “I help little old ladies cross the street.”

Bucky laughs so hard at that he almost drops his tablet. Despite himself, Steve has to bite his lip to hold in a smile. Bucky has a nice laugh. But Steve also gets mildly irritated by Bucky laughing at him, and laughing so hard. He _does_ help little old ladies cross the street and most people _do_ say he’s a really nice guy. Why does Bucky find that so hilarious?

When Bucky stops laughing, he wipes a few tears from his eyes. “Whew. Look, pal, you can be an asshole and be a good person.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Steve points out.

Bucky shrugs. “Take it up with your own personality.”

They go through a few more details of their cover story—yes, it’s a fast relationship, but they’re _so in love_ (Bucky says this with an exaggerated dopey look on his face) that they can’t wait; Steve proposed to Bucky at a baseball game (“Why would I interrupt a good baseball game with a proposal?” Steve protests, and Bucky agrees but says, “Old ladies eat that shit up. Don’t they tell you these things when you’re helping them across the street?”)—and then wait for almost an hour at the clerk’s office to present their ID to get their marriage license.

“What’s your favorite movie?” Steve asks while they’re waiting.

“Rocky,” Bucky answers. “What’s yours?”

“All the President’s Men.”

“Ugh, a political ‘thriller’,” Bucky says under his breath, air quotes audible. Steve rolls his eyes.

“What sports did you play in high school?”

“Football, wrestling, and baseball. What did you do in high school? Art club or something?” He doesn’t sound disdainful, which is always the first thing Steve listens for in questions like that.

“Art club and GSA,” Steve confirms.

“What’s GSA?” Bucky asks. Steve gives him a look.

“Seriously? Gay-Straight Alliance. You don’t even know what it is?”  
  
Bucky shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. “I wasn’t exactly broadcasting it in high school, you know. It’s not really something you brag about in the locker room.”

Steve hums thoughtfully. “What’s your favorite color?”

Bucky makes a face. “I don’t know. Blue? Why, what’s yours?”

Steve shrugs. “I’m color-blind.”

Bucky stares. “You’re shitting me. You’re a color-blind artist?”

Steve laughs a little. “My mom made sure I knew which colors to use for paintings, you know, like the sky is blue and grass is green. If I paint for people, I ask if they have a specific color scheme in mind. I can read the color on the tube, even if I don’t really know what it looks like to everyone else.”

They finally get the license and leave the clerk’s office. They hesitate in front of the building. “Well…” Steve says. “Uh, I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “We’ll probably have to do more fittings for the suits. And we might have to taste-test cakes. Oh, shit,” he blurts suddenly. “Are you allergic to ten thousand things? You definitely look like the type who’s allergic to everything.”

Steve musters up as much dignity as he can as he admits, “I am allergic to…a few things.”

“You better gimme a list to give to my aunt,” Bucky says. “It would really ruin her day if you took a bite of the cake and died.”

“Yeah, it’d probably ruin mine, too,” Steve deadpans. “I’ll text it to you.”

“It’s gonna be a long list, isn’t it?” Bucky asks with a sigh. Steve rolls his eyes and turns around to walk to the train station to go home. “Am I gonna have to give up peanut butter?” Bucky yells after him. “I won’t do that, Steve!”

Steve flips him off without turning around.

“That’s not very husbandly of you!” Bucky says. “You can’t just flip a guy off and walk away!”

So Steve, naturally, does it again and keeps right on walking.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next two weeks, Steve and Bucky exchange a few texts. It’s mostly things like Bucky asking _buttercream y/n and do u know what buttercream is bc i actually don’t_ and Steve rehearsing their cover story and realizing there’s a hole and asking Bucky _y would u agree to marry me before i met your family???_

Steve’s sketching Beth from a picture on Bucky’s Facebook—Steve found it after searching for “Bucky Barnes” instead of “James” and figures they’d probably better be Facebook friends before they get married—because he’s not above bribing Bucky’s sisters into at least being civil to him for the next year when Bucky calls him. Steve puts it on speaker so he can keep working.

“I’m supposed to get your opinion on flowers,” Bucky reports.

“Just in general?” Steve asks, deliberately obtuse. “I’m a fan.”

“I’m gonna give my aunt _your_ number,” Bucky threatens. “I told her ten times we don’t care and she can do whatever she wants. Does she listen?”

“I’m guessing no,” Steve says.

“She does not,” Bucky goes on, ignoring Steve. He pitches his voice high. “Bucky, this pinkish color or this other pinkish color that looks exactly the same? Bucky, which slightly different font do you want on the program? Bucky, what kinds of flowers for the centerpieces?” He sighs. “I only know like two types of flowers.”

“Which two?” Steve asks curiously.

“Roses and carnations.”

“There’s also a flower called a lily,” Steve tells him. “Oh, and those Hawaiian flowers.”

“Hibiscus,” Bucky says absently. “Does that mean you want hibiscus in the centerpieces?”

“No, I was just listing flowers. And obviously you know at least three types.”

“Lucky me,” Bucky says. “We have to take pictures together.”

“What?” Steve asks. Bucky does not do conversational transitions well.

“We don’t have any pictures together. Couples do that. Plus I think my aunt’s going to try to make a picture of us out of flowers or some shit like that. She wants a giant picture to frame.”

“How are we going to make it look like we didn’t take a bunch of pictures in one day?”

“I don’t know. Change our clothes? You’re the artist.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not a photographer.”

Bucky groans. “Uhh, I know a guy.”

“A guy you hate?” Steve guesses based on Bucky’s reluctant tone.

“Nah, he’s gonna be my best man. You pick one?” Bucky asks.

Steve makes a face at his phone. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“Do you have any idea what goes on at weddings? Haven’t you ever at least seen a movie with a wedding in it?” Bucky scoffs. “Of course you have to have a best man. And he’s got to make a speech.”

Steve thinks of Sam’s face every time any talk of Bucky comes up. Maybe he’ll make Natasha do it. She’s a good actress. She can pretend to think this wedding is the best thing to happen to Steve and she loves Bucky. Sam, not so much.

“So, what, now we have to have a photo shoot?” Steve complains. “A lot of things are getting added to this.”

“Oh, boohoo,” Bucky says sarcastically. “Maybe my parents will pay you more.”

Steve doesn’t really have a response to that, and he blows out an annoyed breath. “Fine,” he says between clenched teeth. “When?”

“Tomorrow? I don’t know, I gotta ask Dugan and see when he’s free. Some of them we’re just gonna have to do on our phones, you know, like pretend we’re on a date or something.”

Steve tips his head back to glare at the ceiling, but Bucky has a point. Regular couples have tons of pictures of each other on their phones. “Okay,” Steve sighs. “We can do some tomorrow with or without your friend and then we can do more with him whenever.”

“Okay,” Bucky says.

“Okay,” Steve repeats. There’s a beat, and then Bucky hangs up. Steve sighs in exasperation.

“Well, don’t you two sound disgustingly in love?” Natasha deadpans behind him. Steve jumps and smudges Beth’s nose.

“Natasha! You know I hate when you sneak up on me like that.”

“I know,” she agrees, unabashed.

“Well, if Sam’s morally opposed, want to be my best man? Woman?” Steve corrects with a shrug. Natasha’s eyes light up in a way Steve knows, after being her friend for the last two years, is dangerous.

“And give a _speech_?” She asks.

“Yes,” Steve says cautiously. “Do you like giving speeches?”  
  
“I’d like to give _this_ speech. But I’ll need to meet Blinky first.”

Steve gives her a look. She’s perfectly aware of what his name is, but she refuses to call him Bucky. “You can meet him tomorrow,” Steve says carelessly. “We have to take pictures and look like a couple. Ugh, I hope we don’t do one where he stands behind me and puts his arms around my waist. I hate that pose. Everyone likes it just because I’m short.”

Natasha looks a little skeptical. “You might want to work on your acting.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks defensively.

“Well, I’m assuming you should look like you actually enjoy being in each other’s presence,” Natasha says. “And that conversation did not sound like you enjoy each other.”

“I just don’t enjoy when he’s an asshole,” Steve mutters. His phone buzzes. It’s a text from Bucky. Steve opens it to find a picture of Bucky glaring at the camera. There’s no explanation attached, like he just wanted Steve to see his displeasure at this exact moment. Steve throws his hands up and shakes his head. This is going to be a long year.

  
Dugan is a stout blond man with a bushy mustache. He’s a few years older than Steve, probably, and he’s got a fancy camera slung around his neck.

“Tim Dugan,” he introduces himself, pumping Steve’s hand enthusiastically. “You must be Barnes’s fiancé I’ve never heard of until yesterday.” Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that. He shoots Bucky a look.

“Hey, man, don’t ask, don’t tell,” Bucky jokes lazily. Dugan laughs, a big, boisterous sound, and Steve feels himself liking this guy. Bucky dressed up for the occasion—probably under threat from his mother—and is clean-shaven, his long hair pulled up into a bun Steve can feel himself wanting to be charmed by. Sam would laugh and call him a hipster, but Bucky looks more clean-cut than Steve’s ever seen him.

“Alright, Sarge, I just shot my cousin’s engagement pictures last weekend, so I’ve got the basic poses in mind. Unless you want something else?”

Steve and Bucky kind of look at each other and shrug. “Whatever people normally do,” Bucky says.

But there’s an intense awkwardness they didn’t prepare for—in all these pictures, they’re supposed to look like they’re in love with each other. And they’re supposed to _touch_.

“Don’t be shy, Sarge, let’s go,” Dugan barks. “Foreheads together. Stare deeply in each other’s eyes. Show me some real longing.”

“Thinks he’s a real fucking photographer,” Bucky mutters. “He takes crime scene photos.”

“That would make for interesting wedding pictures,” Steve says.

Bucky snorts, but then they both lean in at once and smack their foreheads together. Dugan cracks up laughing while they stumble apart.

“Gently,” Steve snaps.

“I _was_ doing it gently, but then you moved,” Bucky shoots back.

“Is this what it sounds like when you guys have sex?” Dugan jokes. Steve chokes on his own spit and starts coughing, face flaming. He was so not prepared for any kind of sex talk.

“Christ,” Bucky mutters. “This is a shitshow.”

Steve can feel his patience wearing thin. It’s hot, everything’s blooming and his allergies are giving him a sinus headache, and Bucky is both irrit _able_ and irrit _ating_. Steve didn’t sign up for this.

But he catches sight of the way Bucky keeps holding his left arm out of the shot, pushing it awkwardly behind himself, and some of his anger melts away. Bucky feels just as uncomfortable as he does. Bucky just wanted to go to college and not rely on his parents, and now he’s wound up with a fiancé.

“Just—hold still, okay?” Bucky murmurs. He grabs Steve’s upper arms, left side angled away from the camera, and slowly brings his forehead in to lean against Steve’s. Steve lets his hands rest on Bucky’s waist. He can’t help but notice the firm muscle there.

“That’s great!” Dugan calls. “Just like that.”

Steve feels uncomfortable looking into Bucky’s eyes that close together, so he closes his eyes. He tells his muscles to relax so he’s not holding himself completely rigid.

“Really good!” Dugan encourages. “That looks so good. I don’t want to sound creepy, but you guys are a fucking hot couple.”

“That’s weird, Dugan,” Bucky rumbles. He’s not talking very loud, mindful of how close together they are, but Steve can feel his face moving.

“Okay, a kiss would look great right here,” Dugan suggests. There’s a pause.

“Is that okay?” Bucky whispers.

“Just do it,” Steve hisses back to cover up his discomfort. Bucky huffs and obliges, tilting his head down and barely pressing his lips to Steve’s.

“Oh, come on,” Dugan criticizes. “You’re kissing your fiancé, not your grandma.”

Steve exhales sharply through his nose and rises up on his toes a little so he can get a better angle. Bucky’s lips part just a few inches, and Steve’s stomach swoops as he follows his lead. Steve hasn’t kissed anyone in a long time, truth be told.

“Much better!” Dugan praises as they break apart. Steve can’t look at Bucky. He knows he’s blushing.

“We need one where you can see both our faces clearly,” Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was my aunt’s request.”

“Alright, Barnes, stand behind him and put your arms around his waist.”

Steve holds in a sigh. Bucky makes a face. “I hate that pose,” he complains. “Makes me think of high school dances. Can’t we just stand next to each other?”

“You want me to take a picture of you standing side-by-side?” Dugan asks skeptically. “Are you at least going to hold hands?”

“Oh, good hell,” Bucky mutters. He wraps his right arm around Steve’s waist and tucks his left behind his back. Steve slings his arm around Bucky and tilts his head a little to rest against the bottom of Bucky’s chin.

“Alright, fine, that looks pretty good,” Dugan admits. “But you guys could try smiling. Unless you’re going for that serious look.”

“My aunt wants smiles,” Bucky sighs. Steve does his best, but he’s not sure how well it shows on his face.

Dugan’s shaking his head. “You guys really are a good-looking pair,” he says. “I wasn’t just blowing smoke out my ass.”

“You’re always blowing smoke out your ass,” Bucky shoots back, grinning.

“That’s really all you want?” Dugan asks. “I only took, like, four pictures. Most engagement picture sets I do are big huge ordeals. Take hours.”

“Well, we don’t have matching checkered shirts and bow ties to take a picture on a tandem bike,” Steve jokes. Bucky barks out a little laugh.

“We could buy some bubblegum and blow bubbles.”  
  
“You’re laughing about it, but I have shot both of those scenes more than once,” Dugan reveals. “In fact, the bubblegum one is a big hit.”

“I think we’re good,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes.

“Alright.” Dugan shrugs. “Nice to meet you, Steve. Be good to my Sarge or I’ll be taking my real professional style photos of you.”

Bucky groans and shoves Dugan. “Get outta here.”

“See ya next week,” Dugan says. “I’ll email you the pictures. You want me to edit them at all?”

Bucky looks at Steve. Steve shrugs. “Do whatever you normally do?” He suggests. Bucky nods. Dugan shakes his head.

“Well, you’re honestly the lowest-maintenance couple I’ve had. Which is surprising, since Sarge is such a prima donna.”

He gives a last cheeky salute and leaves Steve and Bucky standing in slightly-awkward silence. “Uh,” Bucky says, pulling out his phone. “Alright, c’mere.” He hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder and rests his head against Steve’s. “Smile,” he orders. Steve scowls instead. Bucky takes the picture.

“Well, as soon as anyone gets to know you they’d know that’s more natural anyway.”

“ _You_ don’t even know me,” Steve points out. He brings out his own phone. “Come on, do mine.”

They take a few more pictures as they walk back to Steve’s apartment, having agreed that they should have some shots of Bucky at Steve’s place. Steve starts to feel more and more self-conscious as they get closer to where he lives. It really is kind of small and dilapidated. Bucky’s probably going to think he’s some kind of charity case.

The whole building looks pretty sad, even from the outside, and Steve darts a glance over at Bucky. He’s got a pretty good poker face, though, so Steve can’t tell what he’s thinking. Steve’s never really thought much about the wobbly railing up the stairs or the burnt-out lightbulbs, but he’s a little embarrassed about it now.

“What floor do you live on?” Bucky asks on the third set of stairs.

“Fifth,” Steve pants, trying not to sound too out of breath. Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve thinks maybe he didn’t succeed.

“You don’t believe in elevators?”

“It’s broken,” Steve says. “It’s been broken for six months.”

Bucky frowns. “They should have a working elevator.”

“You don’t…” Steve has to pause for a second. It’s not usually this bad, but he’s trying not to breathe too loudly with Bucky there, so he’s not doing himself any favors. “You don’t have to tell me,” he finishes. “Mrs. Diggins on my floor can hardly walk. She certainly shouldn’t be taking the stairs. I’ve threatened to sue the management under the ADA at least once a week, but they never do anything.”

“So why don’t you do it?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, I’ve turned in complaints,” Steve says darkly. “But the system’s so overburdened it takes forever. Keeping the poor down benefits the rich, and the system’s run by the rich, so they don’t have much incentive to help except the goodness of their own hearts.”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “That ain’t right.”

Steve looks at him, a little surprised. “No, it’s not,” he agrees. Usually when he starts talking about social stratification and poverty, people roll their eyes or tune him out, and he probably shouldn’t rant about the distribution of wealth to a guy whose family is paying him $36,000 to sit around for a year, but Bucky doesn’t seem upset.

Natasha’s sitting in the kitchen when they come in, and she smiles what Clint calls her wolf smile when she turns around and sees them.

“Hello,” she purrs.

“Natasha,” Steve says, half-greeting and half-warning. “This is Bucky. Bucky, this is Natasha. She’s going to be my best…woman.”

“Hi,” Bucky says, putting out his hand. Natasha shakes it with a raised eyebrow.

“How did the engagement photos go?” She asks in a tone that sounds totally flat unless you know her well enough to know she’s laughing at you underneath.

Steve gives her a look. “We’re going to take some more pictures in here.”

Bucky looks nervous. “She knows?”

“She knows,” Natasha confirms.

“She knows, Clint knows, Sam and Riley know,” Steve tells him. “Am I not supposed to be telling people?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not great if people find out and turn us in,” Bucky points out.

“None of them are going to do that.”

Bucky shrugs. “Alright.”

Steve glares at him. He said _alright_ but it sounds like _you think that now_. And Steve knows his friends and knows they aren’t going to tell anyone without Steve’s permission, let alone turn them in to FAFSA. Or whoever’s in charge of checking those things. Does FAFSA have agents in charge of making sure people aren’t committing fraud? Now Steve’s picturing that. Would they get guns for that job? He gives himself a little shake.

“Just stand by the oven and pretend you’re taking something out so I can take a picture of it,” Steve bosses. Bucky gives him a look.

“What am I supposed to take out?”

“Nothing. Just pretend.”

“It’s a picture,” Bucky points out. “People will look at the picture and see that I’m not actually taking anything out.”

And that’s how Steve ends up baking a batch of cookies with his fiancé, whom he’s known for one week.

“Okay, we need milk,” Bucky says. Steve just glares until Bucky realizes and groans. “You’re allergic to milk.”

“I’m allergic to milk.”

“Well, what happens if you have milk? Do you actually die?” Bucky rationalizes.

“Everyone else around him does,” Natasha mutters. Steve blushes furiously and gives her a dirty look. He does _not_ need to have a conversation about his bathroom issues connected to dairy with someone who is basically a stranger.

Bucky grimaces. “Okay, no milk. Fine. But we need milk for these cookies.”

“Why?” Steve asks. “I don’t usually put milk in cookies.”

“But _these_ cookies use milk to make them moist.”

Steve makes a face. “I _hate_ the word moist.”

Bucky throws his hands up. “So now I can’t even _talk_ the way I normally talk?”

Steve covers his face with his hands and lets out a frustrated growl. “We can just use almond milk.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes, focusing on stirring and mixing, and Steve can feel Natasha’s smirk without actually seeing it. Bucky cracks an egg with his metal hand and does it so forcefully little shards of egg shell and splatters of yolk fly everywhere. Steve turns to him, irritated and ready to chew him out, but notices the way he’s frozen, staring at his hand, covered in egg.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard. It’s—” He swallows. “I’m still getting used to this thing.” He’s sort of shrunken in on himself, shoulders hunched up by his ears, and Steve doesn’t think his anger’s ever dissipated so fast.

“It’s okay,” Steve promises him, keeping his voice as normal as possible. Bucky specifically requested Steve not pity him, and Steve knows exactly how he feels. He hates when people try to baby him because of his disabilities. “Sometimes I have the opposite problem. I always think I can open a jar and then I have to give it to Nat.”

“He does,” Natasha confirms. “It’s embarrassing for everyone.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll—I should go home.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve tells him. “We can just finish the cookies.”

Bucky goes to the sink and washes the egg off his hand. He grabs a paper towel and starts wiping up the mess he made. “I don’t want to ruin anything else.”

Steve can’t totally decipher the look on Natasha’s face, but he blocks her out. “Bucky, you didn’t ruin anything.”

“I got shells in the cookie dough.”

“So we’ll pick them out,” Steve shrugs. Bucky has his back to Steve and Steve can see the tight line of his shoulders. “You know what, maybe we won’t. It adds a nice crunch.”

Bucky huffs something that’s almost a laugh, something trying to be a laugh. He turns around tentatively, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It’s, uh. They have to adjust it sometimes, you know, adjust my control over it. It’s a prototype. It’s not totally, you know. Right. I haven’t had it very long.”

“It’s really impressive, though,” Steve says honestly. He’s never seen a prosthetic like it.

“Be more impressive if I didn’t break shit all the time,” Bucky mutters. “I’ve gone through four phones since I got it.” He’s blushing, but his shoulders are relaxing a little. “Broke a lot of my ma’s dishes, too. I felt pretty bad about that.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mind too much,” Steve says, thinking of Winifred’s voice when she told him she’d do anything to make Bucky’s life easier. Bucky shrugs. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.

“So, uh. Should we finish these?”

Bucky washes the dishes they used while the cookies are baking, ignoring Steve’s protests, and Steve uses the opportunity to snap some pictures. Doing dishes at his apartment—if you didn’t know they were basically strangers, that would seem very domestic.

When the cookies are ready, Bucky poses obediently for a picture, and Steve gapes when he just reaches into the oven with no oven mitt.

“Bucky!” Steve yelps.

“It’s metal,” Bucky reminds him with a little smirk. “It doesn’t hurt.”

But he seems worn down the rest of the afternoon after the egg incident, not arguing with anything Steve’s saying and dropping the thread of a few conversations, and Steve understands what Bucky meant the other day about liking Steve better when he was being a dick. This Bucky, quiet and withdrawn, is somehow worse than the Bucky who makes Steve want to tear his hair out. Steve’s never much liked people who agree with everything he says.

After Bucky leaves, Steve sits on his bed for a while, not really thinking about anything. He opens his photos to look at the ones they took so he can send some to Bucky and notices a bunch of both of them that aren’t selfies—Natasha must have taken them with his phone. They’re almost hilariously awful, hostility visible between them, exasperation and frustration written across Steve’s face, and he starts to feel bad.

The first time he ever saw Bucky, in that bathroom in the VA, Bucky had offered to help him. Bucky was going to leave today, but he wanted to clean up the mess first. Bucky did the dishes after making cookies. Steve remembers something Sam told him once, about how people with PTSD are in a pretty constant state of stress because of their hypervigilance, and he thinks of that article listing everything that happened to Bucky.

Steve’s been a huge asshole to Bucky.

He feels guilty. He thinks if he just met Bucky on the street, or if they really _had_ just run into each other at the VA a bunch of times, he would’ve been nicer. He’s been lashing out because the whole situation makes him feel insecure—he’s so unqualified for every job, he has to get fake-but-real married to stay alive. He knows he tends to get extra mean when he’s feeling self-conscious; he’s done it his whole life and his mother used to scold him for it.

Steve squares his shoulders and makes a vow to be nicer to Bucky. Just like his mother used to say—things will work out if you get to work. His work will be his attitude. How can he expect a year to pass pleasantly if he and Bucky are always butting heads?

He takes out his contacts and brushes his teeth and then, on a whim, he takes a selfie in his glasses, his hair a mess, an actual smile on his face, and sends it to Bucky with the caption _good night_.

Bucky doesn’t respond, but Steve doesn’t let that get him down. They can’t become friends over one picture, after all, and being a dick has made both of them miserable, so from now on, he’s going to kill Bucky with kindness. He’s going to be so good at being nice to Bucky.

He’ll be the best fake-but-real husband the world’s ever seen.

  
Steve wipes his hand on his pants and then switches the drawings he’s holding to the now-dry hand to do the same thing to his other hand. He’s about to walk into a house full of Bucky’s family. He signed and returned the pre-nup George had emailed him (“I know the whole business is uncomfortable, but it just seems necessary, you understand”) that lays out his $36,000 payout if a divorce happens after one year, which is basically a wink-wink-nudge-nudge kind of thing, he assumes. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

Bucky opens the door right away, and they stand there staring at each other for a minute. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since making cookies at Steve’s apartment. Bucky’s dressed up again, button-down shirt neatly pressed, hair gathered into another bun, and Steve passes a hand quickly over his bangs to make sure they’re lying the right way.

“Come on in,” Bucky finally says, stepping back. “Take your—”

“Shoes off, I remember,” Steve interrupts him impatiently. Then he winces. He pledged to be nicer to Bucky literally three days ago. Bucky doesn’t look too offended, though, so he doesn’t stress too much. “Um, I have these,” Steve says, holding up the drawings. “For your sisters.”

“What are they?” Bucky asks, trying to see. Steve pulls them back.

“They’re drawings, and you don’t get to peek until they see first.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling a little, and he starts to say something but he’s cut off by a woman’s voice.

“Is this him?” She shrieks, and then there’s the sound of a lot of feet shuffling, like everyone’s moving toward the top of the stairs.

“Guys,” Bucky scolds. “Stop. We’re coming up the stairs.”

“Oh, you can say your hellos, we get it,” another woman giggles, and Steve feels the first of what’s sure to be many blushes of the evening as he follows Bucky up the stairs. Going behind Bucky was a terrible mistake. Bucky’s wearing tight jeans and from back here Steve’s sightline is full of his ass. At least he’ll have a nice view for the next year.

Bucky gestures at Steve when they get upstairs, like he’s presenting him. “Everyone, this is Steve Rogers,” he says. “My…fiancé. Um, I’m not going to bother naming all of you. You can introduce yourselves when you come up and talk to him. But _don’t_ overwhelm him,” Bucky adds quickly, shooting a look at a cluster of women who must be Winifred’s sisters. They’re already moving in and one rolls her eyes at Bucky’s warning.

“Steve, come get some food before the mob gets to you,” Winifred calls. “No one is allowed to bombard him until he’s done eating.”

Bailey and Beth are in the kitchen, so Steve hands them their respective drawings and lays out the one he did for Becca, too. “I drew these for you,” he says. “Just pretty quick, off some pictures on Bucky’s Facebook, so they’re not great, but.” He shrugs.

“Wow,” Bailey breathes. “That’s really good.”

“Holy cow!” Beth says. “Ma, look!”

Winifred peers over Beth’s shoulder and then sends a huge smile Steve’s way. “Steve, you’re so talented!”

Steve blushes a little and shrugs. “I can do better if I sketch someone who’s actually there, not just a picture.”

Bucky cranes his neck to look, too. His eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, Steve,” he says. “That’s amazing.”

“Haven’t you seen his drawings before?” Bailey asks.

“Oh—yeah, course I have,” Bucky says. “But they’re just so good, it blows me away every time.”

Steve snorts, but his blush isn’t going away.

“Have you done any of Bucky?” Beth asks.

“Oh—sure,” Steve flounders a little. “Tons.”

“I want to see!”

“Well, I don’t have them with me,” Steve says, sighing internally. Now he’s going to have to draw a bunch of pictures of Bucky.

“But don’t show us any if he’s naked,” Bailey shudders, wrinkling her nose. Steve wants to sink into the floor as Bailey and Beth dissolve into giggles.

“I, uh, I did one for you, too, Winifred.” He hands the drawing he’d done of her and George and feels distinctly alarmed when her eyes fill with tears as she looks at it. Sarah Rogers was made of steel; Steve saw her cry maybe three times before she got really sick and wasn’t quite in control of herself all the time.

“Steve, this is wonderful,” she chokes out. Steve looks helplessly at Bucky, who shakes his head, smiling.

“Ma, c’mon, you’re freaking Steve out.”

“I’m sorry,” Winifred apologizes, swiping at her eyes. “I cry easily.”

“That’s where Bucky gets it from,” Beth confides with a laugh, like Steve’s supposed to be in on the joke. Steve huffs a laugh and looks at Bucky. Bucky makes a face.

“I don’t cry easily,” he grouses without any heat. “I have allergies.”

“All year round?” Bailey asks.

“Yes.”

“That’s not how allergies work, Bucky,” Bailey taunts, the smile on her face indicating this is some kind of inside joke.  
  
“If you’re around something you’re allergic to all year, it is. Maybe I’m allergic to _you_ ,” Bucky shoots back. Bailey rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. They’re both laughing, and Steve finds himself almost fascinated. He doesn’t have siblings. Sam has two siblings, but he’d been a surprise baby and they’re both over ten years older than he is. The sibling dynamic isn’t something Steve’s seen much.

Winifred puts an arm around his waist and gives him a little squeeze. “Thank you,” she says, heartfelt enough to make him squirm a little. “Okay, let’s get you fed.”

She hands him a plate and waves at the spread on the dining room table, telling him to serve himself. “Anything with strawberries or walnuts or dairy is labeled, and there’s no shellfish,” she promises, and Steve flushes a little with embarrassment.

Bucky’s relatives are milling around in the dining room, too, and Steve gets the feeling they’re trying to look casual but are just waiting for him. He’s looking over some kind of vegetable pasta salad when one of the older women approaches him.

“Hello, Steve,” she greets him. “I’m Bucky’s aunt Kay. I’m George’s big sister.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says, trying to balance his plate so he can shake her hand. She waves at him to tell him not to worry.

“I made this pasta salad,” she tells him. Steve figures that means he has to try it, since she’s standing right there. “It’s Mom’s recipe, and Bucky was always her favorite, you know, they were very close when he was a little boy. When she was alive _she_ always made it for him. And when we first got him back it was the only thing he would eat. Months and months of making it by the bucketful, I think, because I make it best besides Mom.”

Steve puts the serving spoon back in the bowl delicately, feeling awkward. She probably thinks he already knows the story of the magical pasta salad or whatever. “It’s good you could do that so he’d have something to eat,” he finally says.

“He’s still so funny about his food, isn’t he?” She asks conspiratorially, and Steve has no idea, so he shovels a forkful of the pasta salad into his mouth and sort of nods vaguely. “All that business with his meal schedules and hiding food in his room.”

Steve chews slowly. He and Bucky had lunch just the one time. Bucky had suggested it. He hadn’t mentioned anything about a schedule. But, then again, why would he tell Steve?

“Lord, Kay, the boy’s trying to eat,” another woman says, coming over and elbowing Kay. “And he sure looks like he needs to.” She eyes Steve critically and shakes her head a little, leaving him feeling miffed. It’s not like he doesn’t eat. He’s just naturally skinny. “No wonder Monica had so much to say about your suit alterations. I’m Ann and I’m the wedding planner.”

“Oh, hello,” Steve tries to say around his mouthful of food. He swallows a huge lump of food and has to swallow again to get it all down. “Th—uh, thanks for doing it.” _Without being asked_ , he internally adds.

“Ann would never let a wedding pass without sticking her nose in,” Kay says, rolling her eyes. “Middle child,” she adds in a stage whisper.

Ann huffs. “Those eldest children always have to be such know-it-alls, don’t they?” She asks. “You must see it in Bucky, too.”

Steve wonders if this is some kind of test, like they’re watching him to see if he’ll bad-mouth Bucky. He shakes his head. “Oh, no, Bucky’s—um, he’s great. Perfect, really.”

Ann and Kay both laugh at him, poking at each other’s arms. “Look at him being so polite!” Ann laughs.

“Like we don’t know Bucky comes straight from little Georgie,” Kay agrees.

“I hope I don’t hear you two talking about me,” George says, coming in from the sitting room. He gives Steve a sympathetic look. “I thought Fred told you not to hound him until he ate,” he scolds his sisters.

“We’re just talking,” Ann shrugs innocently.

“Don’t you try to boss me around,” Kay mutters. “I changed your diapers.”

Steve uses their bickering to slip away, making a beeline for the empty corner he spots. The food’s good, and he starts wondering if there will be a lot of family gatherings like this. Judging by how close Bucky’s family seems to be, it’s probably likely. Steve glances around the room at the crush of people and feels a little overwhelmed. But, well, maybe it would be worth it for more of these homemade rolls.

He’s literally still swallowing his last bite when a man swoops in on him. “Steve, huh?” He asks. “I’m Bucky’s uncle Edgar. His favorite uncle, you know.”

“Oh, right,” Steve says. He has no way to verify the claim, but he feels like if the guy has to proclaim it, chances are low it’s actually true.

“I hear you’re quite the artist,” Edgar says. “Art don’t make much money, does it?”

Steve’s face starts to burn. “Uh. Well…”

“I’m just out in Jersey, you know, so you could come work in my furniture store, if you don’t want to work in one of George’s.”

“Oh,” Steve starts. “Thank you for the offer, but I—”

“You got some kinda artist job?” Edgar presses.

“Not exactly, but—”

“Think you’re too good for the Barnes Family Furniture work but not too good to marry into the Barnes Family Furniture money?” He’s leaning closer to Steve now and Steve glances around desperately.

“Hey, Steve,” Becca calls from across the room. “Could you come help me for a sec?”

“Excuse me,” Steve tells Edgar hastily.

“Don’t worry about Edgar,” Becca says as soon as Steve’s close enough to hear her. “He’s got his own issues and he’s had too much to drink already. Aunt Rachel’s probably gonna take him home soon.”

“Thanks,” he says gratefully, a little surprised that she’d get him out of that jam when she didn’t seem to like him much the other night.

“Listen, I think this whole arrangement you’ve got with my brother and my parents is weird and wrong,” she confirms his suspicions. “But it looks like it’s happening no matter what I think. So I’ve got two things to say to you.”

“Okay,” Steve says, a little nervously.

“One: if you ever do _anything_ that makes my brother feel like he’s a freak for the way he’s coped with everything that’s happened to him, you’re gone, and I won’t pull my punches when I kick your ass.” She looks fierce and Steve bites down his protest that he’d never do that. “Two: you need to look after him.” She doesn’t look as angry now; she looks sad. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for him to move out, but he wants to act like nothing happened and he’s just some normal guy going to college. But he has bad days and sometimes bad days mean he doesn’t want to take his meds. So you need to make sure he does, got it?”

“Got it,” Steve promises, feeling uncomfortable. He can’t imagine Bucky would be happy about this conversation.

“And third,” she says, even though she’d only said she had two things to say. “You need to hold Ella while I eat because you’re done and Mark’s trying to get Jamie to go to the bathroom on the toilet. Potty training.” She shakes her head wearily.

“What?” Steve protests. “I—I can’t—”

Becca plucks the empty plate from his hands and starts handing over the baby. “She’ll be fine,” she tells him. She sounds wholly unconcerned.

“I don’t know anything about babies,” he hisses.

“Just hold her,” Becca says, rolling her eyes. “If she gets fussy, play patty-cake. It’s not rocket science.”

And then she just _leaves_. She doesn’t even know Steve and she’s perfectly willing to hand over her child and wander off. Ella turns her big blue eyes on him and they stare at each other for a minute.

“Hello,” he says stiffly.

Ella starts crying in response.

“Oh, please don’t do that,” Steve begs. He glances around. All these people are actually related to this kid, and they’re content to watch him struggle. Great. Some of them are even laughing. He bounces her a little, very, very cautiously. She stops crying and looks up at him curiously. She pokes him in the eye and babbles something.

“Sure,” he agrees, even though he starts thinking about the fact that kids are little germ factories and her slobbery fingers near his face are probably going to get him sick. She grabs his nose. “Nose,” he tells her. She laughs and he can’t help but laugh back. Bucky comes up beside him and Ella babbles excitedly.

“Did Becca pawn her baby off on you?” Bucky asks. He gives Ella a big, exaggerated smile and blinks at her. She cracks up.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I think we’re getting along alright.”

“Well, she’s just a baby,” Bucky points out. “You can’t really be an asshole to her.”

Steve huffs. “I probably _could_ , if I were an asshole, which I’m _not_.”

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look and then looks at Ella. “What do you think, Ells?” He pitches his voice higher. “Is Stevie here an asshole? Is he? Assholes are still assholes, even if they’re cute. Don’t forget that.”

Ella giggles and bounces in Steve’s arms. “I don’t think you’re supposed to swear around kids,” Steve points out. Bucky laughs a little.

“This is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” someone coos. Steve and Bucky both look up and see a girl around their age holding her phone  
“It’ll be your own kid pretty soon!” Someone else calls out. Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky smirks and wraps his arm around Steve’s waist.

“Just give ‘em that pretty smile,” he mutters in Steve’s ear. “If we go along with it they’ll shut up.”

Steve sighs. He has a feeling that’s going to be the catchphrase of their marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a longer wait before the next chapter, because I'm going to be without internet until Saturday and I'll be moving (eep!), but the next chapter is, DUN DUN DUN, the wedding!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! Basically there was a big mixup with my internet and it didn't get set up when it was supposed to, so I'm really sorry for such a long wait. Here we FINALLY have the big day!

Steve looks around at his mostly-empty room. He’s leaving the furniture—a mattress on the ground, a plastic dresser, and an actually very nice desk (he doesn’t scrimp on art accessories)—for Kate, because the new apartment, of course, has brand-new, matching furniture, thanks to his almost-in-laws’ line of work.

He’s going to drop his stuff off at what he keeps calling “Bucky’s apartment” even though it’ll be his too, and then he’s going to get in Sam’s car with Sam, Riley, Clint, and Natasha and drive to his wedding. He’ll be married in less than eight hours.

Steve doesn’t really have any feelings about his impending wedding. A little dread, maybe, because it’s going to be a night of people looking at him and asking him about his life and expecting him to be all lovey-dovey with Bucky, who he no longer considers a stranger but wouldn’t quite call a friend. He’s an acquaintance, Steve supposes, and somehow pretending to be in love with an acquaintance seems _more_ awkward than pretending to be in love with a stranger.

“Hey man, you ready?” Sam asks, coming into the doorway behind Steve. Steve shrugs, looking around.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says. He doesn’t have much; all of his stuff fits in the back of Sam’s car.

“Gonna miss this place?” Sam ventures. Steve can tell he’s trying not to sound judgmental. Sam still doesn’t think this whole thing is a good idea, but he can tell Steve’s mind is made up, so now he’s doing everything he can to help Steve.

Sam’s a better friend than Steve probably deserves.

“I don’t know,” Steve tells him honestly. “I mean, I’ve had a lot of fun with Natasha and Clint. But…” He looks at the small space, thinks of the mold growing in the bathroom no matter how many times they kill it with bleach, remembers the lack of lightbulbs on the outside staircases and the broken elevator.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a nod. “I know. A ritzy new place will be nice.”

Bucky’s apartment— _their_ apartment; Steve has a key and everything—is already decorated. Bucky’s stuff is unpacked, like maybe he’s already been here for a while, and Steve feels a little self-conscious as he sets his three boxes and duffel bag in the other room. Sam raises an eyebrow slightly but doesn’t say anything.

The ride to Ithaca passes pretty quickly. They have a few garment bags laid out in the trunk holding their suits and Natasha’s dress, and they play _I spy_ for a full two hours. No one can ever figure out what Natasha is looking at and she refuses to tell every time.

And then they’re there. There’s a tent for Steve to get ready in and wait for his cue, and as he ties his bowtie (he’d been _joking_ about the matching bowties but apparently Ann wasn’t) he starts to feel butterflies rising up in his stomach. It’s just strange.

Sam wasn’t wrong when he called Steve a bit of a romantic. Steve’s never been one to jump into relationships, and he honestly always pictured his wedding would be…well, real, for one thing, but something he was _excited_ about. He doesn’t feel very excited. He just wants to get it over with so he and Bucky can figure out how they’re going to maneuver around each other.

“Uh, Steve?” He hears Bucky voice. He turns around and Bucky comes in the tent.

“Are we supposed to see each other before this thing starts?” Steve jokes lightly. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Worried about bad luck?” He asks. “Ann wants to know if you’re ready.”

Steve takes a deep breath and nods. “Sure.”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck and looks at Steve for a minute. He licks his lips. “Look, I just want to say…I know this is weird. And I’m…look, I’m not expecting anything from you.”

“Expecting anything?” Steve echoes.

“I mean.” Bucky shrugs. “This isn’t like…you’re not being paid for anything…you know.” He shrugs again, cheeks heating up a little, and Steve almost chokes on his own spit.

“I wasn’t even _thinking_ that,” he tells Bucky, almost accusingly.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Good. And I mean—you can date people.”

“What?” Steve asks. “We’d be married.”

“Well, yeah, but not for real,” Bucky points out. “I didn’t think you’d be celibate for a year.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Steve mutters before he can think about it. He blushes after he says it, and Bucky laughs.

“Well, I’m just sayin’, ‘s all. If you find someone, go ahead.”

“I’m not dating anyone else while we’re married,” Steve says stubbornly. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, a little curiously. Steve feels almost guilty. Bucky has no idea what he's in for in terms of Steve and his principles.

“I mean—I guess _you_ can date other people,” Steve adds, worried that’s what Bucky was after. Bucky gives him a rueful little grin.

“Pal, I wouldn’t be dating anyone even if we _weren’t_ married.”

Steve’s saved from answering that by Ann poking her head in the tent. She gives them a look that’s half disappointment and half delight. “You’re supposed to be around the corner waiting,” she scolds them, smiling. “But I should have known you’d need a private moment.”

Bucky gives her a little smirk. “We’re real sorry,” he says charmingly. Steve is kind of amazed, really, at how fast Bucky can turn it on. He said he used to be good at small talk and dating and everything, and Steve can see a hint of that in how he can smile easily and tease.

Ann waves a hand. “Just get out there now, boys, and make sure you’re respectable by time you walk out in front of everyone.”

They have to wait a few minutes, silently, while the flower girls—some of Bucky’s younger cousins—do their thing, and Natasha and Dugan walk out together, and Jamie brings out the rings, guided by Becca standing at the end of the aisle beckoning to him.

Then it’s their turn. They have to walk down the aisle together, holding hands. Steve looks over at Bucky. Bucky raises his eyebrows and then winks, and Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky being charming and grabs his hand.

Some of Bucky’s aunts are crying, and that makes Steve feel incredibly uncomfortable. Clint, Sam, and Riley make faces at him and he looks away so he doesn’t start cracking up.

“Why is your hand so sweaty?” Bucky hisses.

Affronted, Steve shoots back, “Well, your skin is really dry!”

“I have a _metal_ arm. How’m I supposed to get lotion on one hand, Rogers?” Bucky says. Steve can feel his face twisting up in horror over being so insensitive, and Bucky starts laughing at him. An _aww_ rises up from the audience and Steve realizes Bucky planned it. He’s very good at keeping up appearances, that’s for sure.

They finally reach the end of the aisle and stand under the arch in front of Bucky’s uncle Roger, who’s a minister. Steve has to hand it to Ann—the sunset really is beautiful. Steve lets himself admire how gorgeous Bucky is, just for a minute; the pink and orange sky behind him makes his blue eyes stand out, a few wisps of dark hair slipping from the neat bun frame his face, and his cheekbones look sharp enough to cut glass. He’s incredibly good-looking, and it’s not like there’s anything wrong with noticing that.

“Hello, everyone,” Roger starts. “We’re gathered for a very happy occasion. Weddings are always a happy occasion. But this one especially. Some people have to go through great hardship in their lives, suffering that’s beyond what we would hope for our loved ones. Steve has endured the loss of his dear mother, so much younger than he should have to feel that grief.” Steve sucks in a surprised breath. Winifred must have told Roger, or she told someone else and it got spread around Bucky’s huge family. Bucky shoots him a worried, apologetic little look.

“And Bucky, of course,” Roger continues, oblivious to Steve and Bucky’s discomfort. He has to pause and clear his throat, eyes glistening a little, and Steve sees Bucky go completely statue-rigid. “Bucky has gone through some of the greatest horrors a human can endure, things that no one should have to go through, but especially not our sweet Bucky boy.” The muscle in Bucky’s jaw is jumping as he clenches his teeth.

“But when two souls find each other, no amount of hurt and pain can keep them apart, not when they’re meant to be together. Steve and Bucky have suffered separately, but now they have found each other. They will both bear scars from what happened to them, hurting that will never go away. But they have each other to lean on now, and they’ll both be stronger for it.”

Steve wants to hang his head. This is a beautiful speech, really, and great for a wedding. But it isn’t _true_. Sure, the part about suffering’s true—Steve’s never going to get over losing his mother, he knows that about himself, and what happened to Bucky isn’t something anyone could just forget and be unaffected by. But all this about them finding each other and making each other stronger just makes him feel awkward.

He glances around and sees most of Bucky’s relatives crying, and then he feels guilty. They all think Bucky’s finally found something good, someone to love him and help him. Steve’s an imposter. He’s here for money. He hunches his shoulders a little and just tries to hang in there for the rest of the flowery descriptions of love and admonitions about marriage being hard work even when you love each other. _And what if we_ don’t _love each other?_ Steve thinks.

Bucky slides a silver band onto Steve’s thin ring finger, and Steve does the same with the special-made band to go over Bucky’s metal finger. And then they have to kiss. Steve’s ready. He’s been reminding himself that this would happen for the last three days. He’s ready to sell this. He leans in close to Bucky and tilts his head back. He smiles into it, because he thinks all kisses at weddings should include smiling, and feels Bucky’s lips curve up in response.

Bucky’s family and friends send up a cheer that leaves Steve blushing a little. They’re just all so enthusiastic about everything and he’s not entirely sure how to take it. He can hear Natasha wolf-whistling and Dugan yelling, “Wahoo!”

They pull apart after a respectable length of time and the cheering goes on. Steve looks at Bucky, who shrugs and smiles a little. Ann hustles them back down the aisle so everyone will follow their lead and go into the lodge for dinner. After a while, honestly, holding Bucky’s hand doesn’t even feel weird anymore. Like any sensation, Steve grows dull to it after long exposure.

The food’s amazing, and Steve notes with glee the homemade rolls from the wedding party have made another appearance. He also notices Bucky takes two bites of the magic pasta salad while Kay is looking and then shoves the rest around on his plate without eating any more of it. He catches Steve looking and shrugs sheepishly.

“Too much of a good thing, you know?”

People keep interrupting them to come give their congratulations, and Steve hears a thousand different variations of “we’re so glad Bucky found someone to make him happy.” That squiggly guilty feeling creeps back into his stomach. Almost as if he can sense how Steve feels, Sam comes over to talk to him and tease him a little about his bowtie.

“Let’s get our best man and woman up here,” Ann announces. “Time for those speeches.”

Natasha and Dugan confer for a moment, and then Dugan gives her an exaggerated bow that makes her snort. Steve notices a slightly sour look on Clint’s face and he shakes his head a little, wondering if Clint’s ever going to say anything to Natasha about how he feels. Natasha already _knows_ , of course, but she’s probably waiting to see if he ever gets brave enough to do anything.

“Hello, everyone,” Natasha says, her tone bubbly enough to make Steve raise an eyebrow but not so much it seems fake to anyone who doesn’t know her. “I was _so_ honored when Steve asked me to be his best woman. It’s just such an important job!”

Bucky leans over and whispers into Steve’s good ear, “She isn’t normally like this, is she? Is it the champagne?”

Steve shakes his head. “She likes to create new characters to be around people she doesn’t know.”

Bucky makes a face. “You have strange friends.”

“Now, I’ve set Steve up on _a lot_ of dates,” Natasha tells the crowd. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and I’ve always wanted him to be happy. And let me tell you, it isn’t easy to find someone good enough for Steve. He’s kind and funny and passionate and _good_. And he’s also very, very picky.” She gives Steve a dirty look, complete with sticking out her tongue, and he can’t hold in the laughter that barks out of him. It’s just so fundamentally _not_ Natasha.

“So when he showed up one day with James, I thought two things. First, there must be something special about James if Steve wants him around. Second, he is not at all the type I was looking for to set Steve up with, and he should have told me I was going about this all wrong.” She laughs a light, airy laugh Steve’s never heard come out of her mouth before, and Bucky’s family laughs right along with her.

Steve squirms a little. To anyone who doesn’t know the situation, Natasha’s words sound lovely. But Steve hears the underlying message he’s meant to pick up on. Bucky huffs a little. He’s getting it, too.

“But the most important thing is that Steve is happy. I don’t care if I was wrong about his type and I don’t care if some people say this is too fast. If this is what Steve needs, I’m happy for him, and I’ll take on anyone who wants to say anything about it.” She drops the act for a split second while she looks into Steve’s eyes, and he knows she means that part—she just wants him to be happy. His throat gets a little tight and he ducks his head, smiling and blushing.

“To Steve and James!” She says, voice light again. Everyone echoes her and toasts. She winks at Dugan as she hands over the mic.

“Well, honestly, I don’t know Steve all that well,” Dugan starts. “But I took the wedding pictures for these guys, and I saw the way they acted. Steve doesn’t let Sarge get away with anything. Honestly, he doesn’t.”

Steve wants the ground to swallow him up. Everyone laughs, but all he can think about is how snappish he was to Bucky that day. And every day he’s known him, really. It’s not funny the way everyone thinks it is. He was just plain _mean_.

“Sarge needs that, you know,” Dugan goes on, oblivious to Steve’s turmoil. “What he needs most is someone who will call him out when he needs a kick in the pants. And I know some of you might be thinking he’s been through enough, he shouldn’t get any more kicks.” Dugan pauses, growing a little somber, and Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I agree with that. But a lot of times he’s the reason he needs to be called out. He needs someone to keep him out of his own head too much. He needs someone who won’t let him beat himself up. And from what I’ve seen, Steve’s the perfect guy for the job. He’ll be sweet to you, Steve, I know how he operates, so you two just look after each other and you’ll be happy.” He raises his glass and everyone cheers and toasts again.

Steve thinks maybe they’ll be left in peace to finish eating now that the toasts are over, but of course then they have to cut the cake.

“Shove it in his face!” Beth calls enthusiastically. Bucky gives him a dark look and Steve can’t help but laugh a little. If he knew Bucky better he might do it, but as it is, he keeps it clean and polite and Bucky returns the favor. Beth boos good-naturedly.

And then they have to dance. Steve knew, sort of, that this would be happening, but he didn’t _really_ think about it. In two weeks of wedding planning, he never managed to mention to Bucky that he doesn’t know how to dance. He didn’t want to think about it, truth be told, not when he and Peggy were supposed to go dancing before she went back to England and never got the chance. Steve had ended up in the hospital just before she left. Of course.

“You leading or am I?” Bucky murmurs as they head to the floor, holding hands again.

“Uh…” Steve gives him a sheepish look and Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You,” Steve says, shrugging. Bucky slides an arm around Steve’s waist and keeps their hands clasped. “What do I do with my other hand?” Steve whispers.

“Put it on my shoulder,” Bucky tells him. “Do you not know how to dance?” Steve shrugs again and Bucky’s eyes go a little wider. “You could have mentioned that,” Bucky says reproachfully.

“What would have happened?” Steve asks as the song starts up. “Would we have had to take dance lessons?”

Bucky laughs a little. “Probably,” he admits. “So thanks, I guess.” He doesn’t bother trying anything fancy, and Steve’s grateful. They just sort of sway in place while _At Last_ plays, though it’s not the Billie Holiday version Steve’s used to.

“Who is this?” He wonders aloud.

“Glenn Miller,” Bucky answers promptly.

“You pick this?” Steve asks.

Bucky hums. “I have the record,” he says.

“Oh, God, you _are_ a hipster,” Steve laughs. Bucky makes a face at him.

“It was my grandparents’ song,” he defends himself. “My grandma taught me to dance on this song.” Steve remembers Kay telling him a few days ago about Bucky being close with his grandmother and then feels a little bad about teasing him.

He stops feeling bad when Bucky makes him do a twirl in retaliation. As he spins out, Steve can see his friends laughing at him. All Bucky’s older relatives look completely charmed, though, and Steve thinks maybe that’s the point. But he also knows Bucky did it because he figured Steve would feel a little silly.

“Now you’re just trying to get me to throw up and embarrass myself,” Steve grumbles. It makes Bucky laugh, and Steve can’t help but smile a little. Bucky has a great laugh.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Bucky promises. “Not when you’re looking so good in your suit.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “So you’d make me throw up if I wasn’t wearing a suit?”

“Guess we’ll have to dance sometime not in suits and find out,” Bucky says cheekily, winking again, and Steve shakes his head, laughing. It’s nice to relax with each other. It’s a little weird to become friends with someone after you’re already married, sure, but Steve’s happy they’re becoming friends at all. They’re going to be in close quarters over the next year, and it would be pretty miserable if they couldn’t laugh together.

Bucky dips Steve right at the end of the song and laughs at the glare Steve throws at him.

“Kiss him!” Someone yells, and there are hoots and hollers as people agree. Bucky lifts his eyebrows, asking Steve if he’s game, and Steve raises an eyebrow back, almost a dare. So Bucky bends over while he’s still got Steve in the dip and kisses him, like they’re in a movie or something, and Bucky’s smirking the whole time like he’s really pulled one over on Steve.

Well. Two can play that game.

Steve slips Bucky some tongue and hears Bucky’s surprised inhalation. He feels a shock of sparks down his back, heat spreading down his belly, because a good kiss is a good kiss, regardless of how you actually feel about the person. Once they pull apart, he gives Bucky a smug little look, and Bucky huffs, a little exasperated.

“Jesus, you’re a little shit,” he says.

“You started it,” Steve points out unapologetically.

Bucky shakes his head a little, but whatever he’s about to say gets cut off by Ann announcing, “Everyone get out there and dance!”

Steve’s friends crowd around him for an up-tempo song, the way they’d dance at a club or something, and Steve laughs and obliges. Dugan and some other guys sweep Bucky up, boisterous and insistent, and Steve loses track of him while he tries to avoid getting hit in the face with one of Riley’s flailing limbs. He catches Sam’s eye and they both crack up laughing.

“This is what I get for dating a white boy,” Sam says, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“You can’t handle it,” Riley taunts.

“I’ll _show_ you handling it,” Sam shoots back, sliding in between Steve and Riley to grab his boyfriend’s hips.

“Whoa, I don’t want to be standing right here for this,” Steve teases.

He keeps an eye on Sam and Riley as the night progresses, because the bar is open and they get emotional and handsy when they’re drunk, and he’s used to staying sober because of the way alcohol messes with his meds. Natasha never seems to get drunk, no matter how much she drinks, and she’ll take care of Clint.

Steve’s having a great time, laughing at his friends and generally enjoying himself, when the music cuts off and Ann says over the speakers, “Now the happy couple is going to leave and go up to their honeymoon suite!”

Steve jerks his head up, surprised. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. He should have seen this coming. This is what happens at weddings. Everyone claps and cheers. Even Sam is drunk enough to get swept up and cheer. Natasha gives him a look. She doesn’t say a word, but Steve can tell she’s asking if he’s okay. He shrugs and nods and she frowns a little.

Bucky appears at his side. “Let’s go,” he says grimly. “Everyone’s watching.”

Steve grabs his hand, since, as he pointed out, everyone is watching them. The cheers echo behind them as they head toward the elevators. Bucky drops Steve’s hand as soon as the doors to the reception hall close behind them.

Winifred is in the hallway. She’s holding a room key. “This one’s a double,” she explains, handing Bucky the key. “Your dad and I will take the honeymoon suite.” She winks, and Bucky groans.

“Ma, please,” he says.

“Thanks,” Steve tells her, genuinely a little surprised that she’d thought ahead like that.

“We just want you both to be comfortable,” she says earnestly, like she can hear what he’s thinking. She puts an arm around Bucky’s waist and gives him a squeeze. “We’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry about Ann seeing you coming out of the wrong room. She’s been drinking and won’t be awake until late tomorrow.”

Then, to Steve’s surprise, she gives him a little side-hug, just like she’d given Bucky. He’s too taken aback to reciprocate, but she doesn’t seem miffed at all.

“Night, Ma,” Bucky says over his shoulder as he presses the button for the elevator. He hesitates a little before getting in, and Steve catches sight of Winifred’s face, etched in worry, as the doors slide closed.

“What floor?” Steve asks, hand hovering in front of the buttons. Bucky’s taking slow, deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut. “Bucky?”

“Four,” Bucky grinds out.

Steve presses the four and then waits a minute before venturing, “Don’t like elevators?”

“Small spaces,” Bucky says, and Steve suddenly remembers one of the medical tests on Bucky was whether they could freeze him alive in some kind of small metal tank. He swallows hard. He knows when he gets anxious about things, Sam talks to him to keep him calm.

“When I was seven,” he starts. “My mom took me to work with her. I mean, she took me to work with her a few times, but I’ll never forget this specific time. She was a nurse, so we were at the hospital. And when we were on the elevator, right at the last second a morgue guy jumped on. With a body. I couldn’t stop staring.”

Bucky’s brow wrinkles. “Too young for a dead body,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Especially ‘cause I had a ton of health problems, even worse than now, so I was in and out of the hospital all the time. And I saw this body bag, and somehow I knew it was a dead person without anyone telling me, and I was so scared of the hospital after that. I wouldn’t go to work with my ma, and I tried not to let her see when I got pneumonia again the next winter because I didn’t want to go back to the hospital.”

“Pneumonia?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, I used to get pneumonia at least twice a year,” Steve says. “I was born really premature, so my lungs have never worked quite right.”

Bucky cracks an eye open to look at Steve. “Are you okay now?”

Steve makes a considering noise. “I’m better than I was,” he says honestly. “But I still have asthma and I have to be careful in the winter. 'S why my eyes and ears are bad, too.”

The doors open on the fourth floor and Bucky all but runs off the elevator. He waits for Steve just outside, still taking those long breaths, but his eyes are open now and he’s not as pale. They’re walking down the hall, looking for the room, and Bucky asks,

“Do vitamins help?”

“Huh?” Steve asks, distracted.

“So you don’t get pneumonia,” Bucky clarifies. “Like, vitamin C, that kind of thing?” They get to the right room and Bucky puts the key in the slot on the door.

“We tried a lot of natural remedies,” Steve says. “I mean, my ma was a nurse, so we did all the medical doctor ones, too, but things were just so bad she wanted to try anything to help me breathe. Lots of vitamin C and B vitamins and weird herbs and stuff like that.”

“Any of it help?” Bucky asks curiously. A bag that must be his is sitting on one bed, and Steve’s battered backpack is on the other.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. But it probably didn’t hurt.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” Bucky asks.

“Wh—a shower?” Steve sputters. “No!”

“Not _together_ ,” Bucky says. Steve feels his face getting hot. “Jesus. I meant—I want to take a shower, but you can go first if you want to take one.”

Steve’s a little sticky from dancing, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it now. He shakes his head. “Go ahead,” he says, a little faintly. Bucky’s cheeks are a little red, too, and it makes Steve feel even more foolish. They’d been fine, and things hadn’t been awkward, and now he’s gone and ruined the easy camaraderie they’ve had all night.

“Do you need to…use it or anything? Before I go in?” Bucky asks, uncomfortable. Steve shakes his head again. Bucky blows out a breath and grabs his bag. Steve sinks down onto his bed after Bucky’s shut the bathroom door and smacks a hand to his forehead.

Bucky doesn’t take very long, and then they’re sort of awkwardly sitting in the room, unsure of what to do. “Want to see if there’s anything on TV?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, sure,” Steve says.

“Stop me if you see anything you like,” Bucky murmurs as he clicks it on. He flips through the channels and they end up on some sitcom neither of them have ever watched, canned laughter loud in the heavy silence between them. Steve gets up and takes out his contacts, brushes his teeth, and uses the bathroom.

“You call _me_ a hipster,” Bucky says, shaking his head as Steve emerges in his glasses.

“These are prescription,” Steve points out.

“Those are still hipster frames,” Bucky shoots back.

“I’ve had this style of frames way before hipsters started wearing them.”

“That was an incredibly hipster thing to say.”

Steve huffs and settles back against the ten million pillows on his bed. Why do hotels always put so many pillows on the bed? These could smother him. He plugs in his phone and texts Natasha.

_You get Sam and Riley taken care of?_

_Of course_ , she responds. _How’s the honeymoon?_

Steve surreptitiously snapchats the TV and sends it to her.

_Wild men_ , she sends back. Steve can imagine her dry voice.

The sitcom ends and Bucky starts channel-surfing again. He keeps shifting around on his bed, apparently restless. He pauses for a minute on some action movie, but flinches at an explosion and hurriedly flips away. Eventually he finds a baseball game.

“Ugh,” he complains. “I don’t want to watch the Yankees.”

“This is an old game,” Steve tells him. “It’s alright.”

Bucky fixes him with a look. “The Yankees lose?”

“They get crushed,” Steve confirms with a relish. Bucky grins and folds his hands behind his head.

“This I can watch,” he says.

So that’s how they spend the first night of their married life together—spread out on separate beds, watching baseball, heckling the Yankees. It’s not the best honeymoon, strictly speaking, but for two guys who hardly know each other, it’s a pretty alright night.

Steve drops off sometime around the seventh-inning stretch. He jerks awake a few hours later with his glasses at an awkward angle, so he takes them off and sets them on the bedside table and slips under the covers.

The TV’s off and Bucky has his back to Steve, but Steve gets the feeling he isn’t asleep. He wonders if he should say something, but the room is dark and the bed is soft and he drops off again before the thought can really formulate in his sleep-fogged brain.

The next morning, Bucky has those ever-present dark circles under his eyes. He has stubble growing in and he’s a little pale. Steve almost feels guilty for how well he slept. He normally has trouble sleeping deeply in strange places, but the bed was seriously comfortable and lulled him right to sleep. Bucky, apparently, wasn’t as lucky.

“Morning,” Steve mumbles, yawning and trying to rouse himself. Bucky grunts.

“Want to get breakfast?” He asks, voice rough. Bucky’s got a great voice all the time, but his first-thing-in-the-morning voice is unfairly hot, especially given how haggard he looks.

“Mm,” Steve says. “Gimme a minute.”

Bucky shuffles off into the bathroom, and Steve uses the opportunity to adjust himself a little. He’s not even quite half-hard, which is pretty par for the course. His health problems and medications make his sex drive pretty low. He fishes his pill box out of his bag and expertly swallows his morning doses dry.

He remembers Becca telling him to make sure Bucky takes his medication and frowns. How’s he supposed to do that? He keeps his pill box in his hand so it’s in plain sight when Bucky comes out of the bathroom. Bucky definitely spots it—his eyes dart there first thing—but he doesn’t say anything. Steve holds it up, shaking it a little.

“Pre-gaming breakfast,” he jokes. Bucky doesn’t say anything. “You know, keeping me alive and relatively sane.”

“Stop,” Bucky requests. He doesn’t sound annoyed, though, so that’s good. “I’m sure Becca or someone gave you some speech about my meds. I’m fine.”

“Fine without them?” Steve asks, trying not to sound too skeptical. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Fine to take them without a babysitter,” Bucky explains. “I know I need them.”

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling a little foolish. Bucky crosses his arms.

“You gonna get ready so we can eat breakfast?”

Steve grabs some clothes and goes into the bathroom to change and splash some cold water on his face. He puts in his contacts and squares his shoulders in the mirror before going back out.

He’s a little surprised at how many of the wedding guests are down at breakfast, given how much the alcohol was flowing last night. Sam doesn’t look too terrible, but Riley does, and Clint, beside Riley, is face down on the table.

“Well, good morning,” Steve says cheerfully. Riley groans and Clint flips him off without even raising his head. Bucky’s group of Army buddies, he notices, are not present, and Bucky doesn't look surprised.

Bucky sits beside him while they eat, but he doesn’t say a word. He seems more withdrawn than usual, and Natasha gives Steve a questioning look. He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with him—it seemed he was already in that mood when Steve woke up, and he thinks it has something to do with the fact that Bucky doesn’t look like he slept at all last night.

They’ve been down there for about half an hour when George and Winifred come down, holding hands and laughing together. Winifred immediately zeroes in on Bucky, smile fading from her face a little, and Bucky sighs quietly. George murmurs something to her and she nods, almost frowning, and goes to grab a plate while George comes over to them.

“You boys ready to leave after breakfast?” He asks.

“Whatever you want to do,” Bucky says softly.

“Steve?” George checks.

“Oh,” Steve says, realizing they’re expecting him to ride back with them and not in Sam’s car. “Yeah, I’m ready whenever.”

George nods. “Well, your mom’s got to eat something. You know how she gets when she’s hungry. The girls should be down soon.”

He leaves to join Winifred and Steve looks at Bucky. “How are your sisters getting home if I take up a spot?”

“One will come with us and one has to squeeze in with Becca and the kids. That’ll probably be Beth because Bailey’s on a short leash with my parents right now.”

Bailey does end up riding in Bucky’s parents’ car with them, and there’s an awkward moment where Steve’s expecting her to get in next to Bucky in the backseat and realizes she’s waiting for him to do the same thing, and he sighs inwardly and slides in.

“Can I stay the night in your new apartment?” She asks during the drive. “You have a guest room, don’t you?”

Steve feels an actual stab of panic at the thought of her staying over. He’d have to sleep in Bucky’s room. Probably in his bed. There wouldn’t really be a way around it.

“Honey, let them get settled in,” Winifred says with a little laugh. “ _They_ haven’t even slept there yet.”

“I can’t wait until _I_ can get out of that house,” Bailey mutters sullenly. Bucky leans around Steve to flick her in the arm.

“Don’t talk that way,” he scolds.

“Bucky, don’t,” Winifred says. “It’s fine. She’s just eighteen.”

Bailey rolls her eyes. “Oh, my desire for independence is just a _phase_ now?”

“Why don’t we talk about this when we get home?” Winifred suggests, voice strained. Steve feels incredibly awkward. He barely knows these people, and he certainly does not want an open look at their family drama. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with family drama, since his own family was just him and his mother. He knows his mother’s parents weren’t very happy with her for running off to the States, but they’d both died when Steve was young and he doesn’t remember much about the whole thing.

The rest of the car ride is pretty quiet, only slightly awkwardly, and Steve notices Bucky fall into a little doze. He keeps jerking awake, eyes flying open and whole body snapping to attention, and then slumping against the seat once he realizes where he is. It can’t be restful.

And then they’re pulling up to the curb in front of Bucky’s apartment—their apartment—and he and Bucky are gathering their bags from the trunk. Bailey waves, almost sarcastically, and Winifred looks a little worried. George shrugs at them both before pulling away.

Steve glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. Time to figure out the next year of their life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, I meant to have this up Friday or yesterday, but I got sucked into Sense8 on Netflix! Also I apologize to any James Franco fans, if any still exist.

Steve tries to take his time putting his room together, but he just doesn’t have enough stuff for it to take long. He refolds all his clothes and puts them in the dresser and hangs up what needs to go in the closet, puts his sheets on the bed, and then…he’s pretty much done. He’s got a few pictures to put out, but that’s it. He sits on the bed for a while, stalling and reading the news on his phone, but eventually his loudly grumbling stomach convinces him it’s time to emerge.

Bucky’s in the kitchen, looking in the fridge. He stands up when Steve comes in, looking a little guilty, his cheeks full. “Ma left some food,” he says around his mouthful. “If you want any.”

“Are you eating with your hands?” Steve asks incredulously.

“I was really hungry and I didn’t want to get a fork dirty,” Bucky admits sheepishly. Steve snorts and pulls down a plate, pointedly grabbing another and setting it close to Bucky. Bucky pulls out the covered plate he’s eating from and Steve sees chicken of some kind. He also pulls out a Tupperware container with a piece of tape on top that reads STEVE.

“What’s that?” Steve asks. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“That’s my mom’s handwriting,” Bucky says with a shrug, pulling off the top. It’s full of rolls, the same ones Steve’s been enjoying at the festivities. “You tell her you like the rolls or something?”

“No,” Steve says. “I mean, I do. A lot. But I didn’t say anything.”

“She probably just noticed.” Bucky says it carelessly, like it’s normal for his mother to notice one thing Steve ate third and fourth helpings of at two different events with over fifty people in attendance, like it’s something that happens often and isn’t a big deal.

Steve swallows hard. It’s been years since he’s had any kind of maternal figure looking out for him, watching what he eats and taking note. His own mother, of course, knew his favorite foods and made them whenever she could, whenever she wasn’t too tired from working double shifts and running back and forth between the children’s floor, where Steve was a patient, and the ER, where she was working. He hasn’t really given it much thought or realized how much he missed that feeling, of someone caring enough to watch for what food he liked.

“Thanks,” Steve manages when Bucky hands him the container of rolls. He feels Bucky’s gaze on the side of his head as he looks down at the rolls. They eat quietly, far enough apart that their shoulders and elbows don’t bump into each other. Steve wonders if Bucky was always left-handed or if he uses his left more now to get used to it.

“So, we should probably lay down some ground rules,” Bucky says. Steve chews warily. He had a roommate in college who tried to lay a “ground rule” that they wouldn’t be friends with any gay people. The guy had quickly switched rooms when Steve expressed his personal views on that subject.

“Sure,” Steve answers carefully.

“You want to bring someone over and you want me to scram, just text me.”

“I _told_ you—” Steve starts.

“I know, I know,” Bucky cuts him off. “But if it happens.”

“Well, fine, you too,” Steve says. Bucky rolls his eyes a little.

“Yeah, okay,” he says sarcastically. “Anyway. If you need something in the night or the morning, like before I’ve woken up, ah…” He clears his throat, looking cagey. “Don’t come in my room. Unless—I mean, you can knock. But don’t just…come in.”

Steve gives him a strange look. “Okay? I won’t invade your space.”

“I don’t, uh.” Bucky bites his lip. “Sometimes I don’t really know where I am. When I first wake up. And I sort of…freak out.”

Steve watches him for a minute, but Bucky won’t meet his eyes. “Okay,” Steve says, doing his best to make his voice neutral. “No problem.” Bucky nods but doesn’t say anything, and he’s still not looking at Steve. Steve wants to tell him it’s okay—he’d never want to do anything that would trigger Bucky in any way—but they don’t know each other very well and Bucky seems incredibly uncomfortable with the topic.

“Well, I’ve got one,” Steve finally says. “I hate James Franco, so if you watch any of his movies, don’t expect me not to rant.”

Bucky stares at him for a minute. “Who’s James Franco?” He asks.

“Pineapple Express?” Steve tries. Bucky shrugs. “127 Hours?” Nothing. “Harry Osborne in the Tobey McGuire Spiderman?”

“Ohhh,” Bucky says. “Why do you hate Harry?”

“I don’t hate _Harry_ , I hate James Franco,” Steve corrects. He’s all geared up for a rant when he notices Bucky’s laughing at him. He narrows his eyes.

“You know exactly who James Franco is, don’t you?”

“No, I actually didn’t until you said Harry Osborne,” Bucky says. “But I kinda hate that dude, too. His face makes me want to punch him.”

“Yes!” Steve exclaims. “Such a punchable face. And that whole business with the underage girl? So gross.”

“Although,” Bucky says, pointing a finger at Steve. “I bet you never met a guy you didn’t want to punch, huh?”

Steve makes a face. “What’s that mean?” He hasn’t even gotten in a fight in almost a month.

Bucky shrugs and goes back to his chicken. “You’re all…” He gestures. Steve raises an eyebrow. “ _Angry_ ,” he finally settles on.

Steve opens his mouth to protest and then stops himself. It’s not untrue. It would be a lie to pretend it’s untrue. He’s better than he used to be, at least.

“Not saying you shouldn’t be,” Bucky goes on, mouth full. “Bet you got a lotta shit in school, right?”

Steve’s mind instantly flashes to Gilmore Hodge, his tormentor all through high school. “I guess,” he admits.

“From guys like me?” Bucky guesses. “Strong and all that. Jocks.”

Steve thinks of Gilmore Hodge’s spot on the football and basketball teams and the picture he’d seen in Bucky’s parents’ house of Bucky sometime before his capture, muscular and stern-looking. But then he remembers the near-constant sneer on Hodge’s face and the way Bucky’s first instinct when he saw Steve in the VA bathroom was to ask if he needed help.

“Nah,” Steve says, tearing into another roll. “Not like you.”

  
Steve’s got some commissions to work on to keep him busy the next few days, but he wonders what Bucky’s going to do. He hasn’t started school yet, and Steve dreads the idea of shuffling around each other awkwardly.

But he hears Bucky up and moving around early in the first morning, out in the kitchen by 7. He leaves an hour later, shutting the door quietly behind himself, and Steve hears the scrape of the key as he locks the door behind him. He can smell coffee, and when he goes out into the kitchen, there’s a pot waiting, ostensibly for him. He can’t _drink_ it, because of his heart arrhythmia, but it’s a nice gesture anyway. There’s also a bagel by the toaster.

Steve crunches through the bagel after he toasts it and slathers it with peanut butter he finds in the cupboard, wondering where Bucky went so early. Now that he stops to think about it, Bucky was up way later than he was last night. He’d still heard the TV, volume turned way down low, as he’d dropped off to sleep in his bed.

He sort of forgets everything else as he gets absorbed in work, not even noticing the time passing until his phone buzzes with a text from Sam.

_Hey honeymooner, you want to get late lunch?_

Steve blinks and checks the time and yeah, it’s after noon already. He has a sneaking suspicion Sam is asking him to get lunch as a way to remind him to eat at all, and if it was anyone but Sam he might get annoyed.

 _Sounds good_ , he sends back. _When/where?_

They meet at their usual lunch spot, close to the VA so Sam can hurry back to work afterward, and Sam waits until they have their food to fix Steve with a look.

“What?” Steve asks.

“You know what,” Sam admonishes. “How’d the last two nights go?”

“Are you trying to subtly ask me if I slept with him?” Steve asks.

Sam snorts. “I know you didn’t sleep with him.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Steve asks, not quite sure if he should be offended. Sam holds up a hand and rolls his eyes, obviously knowing how Steve feels.

“I’m not saying you couldn’t if you wanted,” he assures Steve. “I’m just saying I know you, and you wouldn’t sleep with a guy you barely know. Especially if you have to live with him for the next year.”

Mollified, Steve shrugs. “Yeah. The last two days have been fine. Yesterday we mostly stuck to our own rooms, and then he was gone before I was up this morning.”

Sam looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, so Steve figures whatever he knows about the situation is something he has to keep confidential. Instead, Sam asks, “You been sleeping alright in the new place?” He knows Steve’s issues with sleeping, especially in an unfamiliar room.

“Not too bad,” he promises. “That night in the hotel was one of the best nights of sleep in my life. The bed was so comfortable.”

Sam laughs. “Well, I don’t remember if my bed was comfortable, because I honestly don’t remember much of that night.”

“You were pretty drunk,” Steve laughs. Sam groans.

“I wasn’t as bad as Riley. We’re getting old and boring. We can’t hold our alcohol anymore.”

After they finish lunch and Sam goes back to work, Steve kind of wanders around the city for a while. He likes taking walks, people-watching. And he suspects Bucky will be back at the apartment by now, and he feels awkward about that. He supposes they should talk, get to know each other, build on the rapport they’re starting to get, but it sounds so exhausting. He just wants to walk around with his hands in his pockets for a while.

When Steve finally needs to get back to work to stay on track with getting his commissions done on time, Bucky either isn’t there or is already locked in his room. Steve closes his door and goes back to work. Around six he wanders into the kitchen and eats some more leftovers, but there’s no sign of Bucky for the rest of the night.

This pattern holds for a few days, until Thursday afternoon when suddenly, Bucky opens the front door at five o’clock holding a takeout bag of Chinese food.

“Uh, do you like Chinese?” He asks. “I guess I should have checked that before I bought it.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Steve says, surprised. He hasn’t even seen Bucky since Sunday, has only heard him moving around in the mornings. He gets down some plates and they eat quietly for a little while.

“So, uh.” Bucky clears his throat. “My friends want to go out for beers tonight.” Steve looks at him, unsure where he’s going with this. It’s not like he’s told Steve where he’s been going before this. “And they invited you along.”

“Oh.” Steve searches Bucky’s face. “Well, I mean, you can tell them I was working or something.”

“Oh,” Bucky echoes back at him. “You don’t want to come?”

“I…thought you wouldn’t want me to,” Steve says slowly. “They think we’re married for real, like we’re in love or whatever, so they’re inviting me to be polite, but…I mean, I don't want to ruin your night out with your friends just because they think we're...something.”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. But they’re not going to take excuses for long. They want to get to know you.”

“Okay,” Steve says awkwardly. “Uh, sure, I’ll go. I don’t, um, drink though.”

“I know,” Bucky says. “I noticed at the wedding. I don’t either.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks. Bucky’s eyes dart away.

“Alcohol doesn’t mix well…” He hesitates, then shrugs a little. “Medications.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Me too.”

Bucky opens his mouth, then closes it. Then he opens it again. “Well, is seven a good time for you?”

“I think I can fit it into my busy schedule,” Steve says wryly. Bucky huffs a little laugh, going back to his food. “ _You_ seem pretty busy,” Steve adds, kind of nosily.

Bucky hums, chewing. “I got appointments.” He doesn’t explain any further and Steve feels bad for prying, so he lets it drop.

The bar isn’t super crowded, but there’s a base level of sound that makes Steve sigh a little. He’s not going to be able to understand anything anyone says to him. Bucky’s friends are in the back, at a table tucked into a corner. The two chairs left empty are in the corner.

“There’s the lovebirds!” Dugan calls out when he sees them.

“Surprised they left their love nest!” One of the other guys adds, and Steve can feel the blush that’s probably going to be firmly affixed on his face all night start up.

Bucky guides him around the table with a hand on the small of his back, and Steve resists the urge to glare. He doesn’t like being steered like that. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself Bucky doesn’t know that. Bucky isn’t doing it because he thinks Steve can’t manage to go the right way on his own. Bucky put his hand there because they’re acting like a couple in front of his friends.

They do introductions, since Steve didn’t actually find out any of these guys’ names at the wedding, and Steve’s surprised to hear one of them—Monty?—has a British accent and another is French, so Steve says, “Bonjour,” with his best high-school French accent.

Dernier laughs and lets out a quick stream of rapid French. Steve catches the words _French_ and _no_ and _these guys_ , gesturing around the table, but not much else. It’s been a while, and he can’t quite catch everything anyway.

Gabe laughs at the look on his face. “He says it’s nice to hear French and see not everyone’s a barbarian like these guys.” Dugan casually flips Dernier the bird and takes a long pull of his drink.

“So tell us,” Morita starts, leaning closer. “How are you getting any sleep through Sarge’s snoring?”

“Oh, uh…” Steve glances at Bucky. He had no idea Bucky snores. “You know, it’s not too bad.”

Morita shakes his head. “You must be a really good husband,” he says. “I hated sleeping within 50 feet of this guy.”

“Least I smell better than Dugan,” Bucky shoots back. Dugan makes a wounded noise.

“I wasn’t even part of this!”

“Try hitting him with a pillow,” Monty suggests. “That usually shuts him up.”

“That probably won’t happen for a few years,” Gabe points out. “The honeymoon phase or whatever.”

“Nah, I don’t think Cap here’s afraid to let Sarge have what for,” Dugan laughs. Steve wrinkles his brow, confused.

“Cap?”

Everyone laughs and Bucky gives them a warning look. Steve gets that sinking feeling in his stomach that’s all too familiar from high school—they’re laughing at him. They’ve got some kind of joke behind his back.

“It’s just a stupid nickname,” Bucky assures him.

“What does it mean?” Steve asks.

“Nothing, it’s not—”

“See, he’s the Sarge,” Morita says. “And the Sarge gets his orders from the Captain.”

Bucky’s blushing a little. Steve raises an eyebrow. “Is this a jab at the institute of marriage as a whole or me personally?”

“You just seemed to be pretty good at bossing Sarge around, from what I saw,” Dugan says, laughing, and Steve groans a little internally. Great. Back to him being a dick to Bucky before he resolved to be nice.

“They’re not making fun of you,” Bucky cuts in quickly, voice low. Luckily, he's seated on Steve's good side, or Steve would never hear him whispering. “Giving you a nickname means they like you.”

“They just met me,” Steve points out.

“It’s not anything bad,” Bucky insists.

“You are an artist, Captain?” Dernier asks, cutting through Steve and Bucky’s quiet argument.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, unwilling to be rude and not answer his question. “I focused on paint in school, but I mostly do pencil sketches now.”

“Draw something for us!” Dugan says.

“Well, I don’t have—” Steve tries, but before he can finish the sentence, Gabe has pushed a napkin at him and Monty’s pulling a pen from his pocket. “Uh, what should I draw?” Steve asks.

“Draw Sarge!” Morita suggests. “Bet he makes you draw him all the time.”

“He _is_ a big fan of his own ugly mug,” Dugan agrees. "Like one of those birds who gets distracted by their own reflection."

“Can I help it if I’m a perfect model?” Bucky asks. Steve sighs very quietly and only Bucky hears him. Bucky gives him an apologetic look that Steve shrugs away. It’s not Bucky’s fault. Not really.

Steve sets to work sketching out Bucky’s face, glancing up at him every once in a while. He really does have amazing facial structure. Those _cheekbones_ , honestly. Steve gets lost focusing on the little bump on Bucky’s ear, trying to figure out the best way to add it in.

He jumps when Bucky taps his arm.

“What?”

“We’ve been talking to you,” Bucky says slowly, giving Steve a strange look. “You get that into what you’re doing?”

“Oh.” Steve flushes. He could just lie and say yes; they’d probably buy it. But his mother never let him be ashamed of his disabilities, so he straightens his back and lifts his chin. “I have a hard time distinguishing background noise, since I’m deaf in one ear.”

“Even with the hearing aid?” Bucky asks.

“When it’s really noisy, yeah,” Steve says. Dugan immediately looks contrite.

“Hey, Cap, we could’ve gone somewhere else,” he says. Steve blinks. He sounds like he actually means that, like Steve could have mentioned _A bar will be too noisy and I won’t be able to understand anyone_ and they would have packed it in at someone’s house. Natasha and Clint already know, of course, and Clint has the same problem, so they and Sam and Riley don’t usually go out much and mostly sign to communicate when they do.

“Well, it’s alright,” he promises a little awkwardly. “When I’m looking at people I can mostly read their lips, and that helps. I mean, I can hear, but it’s hard to understand anything.”

 _I can sign_ , Gabe signs at him.

“You sign?” Steve asks.

“Gabe’s a linguist,” Morita says, a weird mixture of proud and exasperated, like he doesn’t want to seem too fond and give up the way they all rag on each other.

“Speaks about a hundred languages,” Monty adds.

“Wow,” Steve says.

 _We can talk about them and they won’t know_ , Gabe signs, grinning mischievously.

“Not a good look in your eyes,” Dernier mutters.

 _Does he really smell bad?_ Steve signs, gesturing toward Dugan.

“This is not polite,” Dugan protests while everyone laughs, Gabe most of all.

 _Terrible_ , he confirms. _Especially on taco night._

Steve laughs so hard he smudges Bucky’s chin a little. His little frown down at the napkin reminds everyone he’s drawing for them, and they clamor to see. Dugan whistles.

“You managed to make it look like Sarge isn’t completely hideous,” he says appreciatively.

“You are very talented,” Dernier tells him, making him blush.

“Stevie here always manages to get my best side,” Bucky bluffs. Steve raises an eyebrow at him. Stevie’s not a name anyone’s ever called him before, and he’s not so sure he’s a fan.

“But how often does he get your _back_ side?” Morita throws out.

The conversation devolves from there, and it lasts pretty much the rest of the night.

“That was a lot of fun,” Steve says as he waits for Bucky to unlock their front door.

“Yeah, the Commandos know how to have a good time,” Bucky agrees.

“The Commandos?” Steve repeats incredulously. “Please tell me that has nothing to do with the state of your underwear.”

Bucky barks out a little laugh. “Nah, it was our unit’s nickname. We were always so fucking loud everyone else called us the Howling Commandos.”

Steve snorts and Bucky shrugs. “Well, they’re good guys,” Steve says earnestly. “They were—nice.”

Bucky gives him a small smile. “I know they seem like assholes, but deep down they’re good,” he says with a nod.

“I was surprised they all, uh. Cared so much,” Steve says lamely. Bucky’s smile disappears, but he doesn’t look angry; just sad.

“They all got their shit they’ve gone through,” he points out. “They were all prisoners, too, you know.”

Steve remembers from the article—everyone in the unit had been captured. Bucky had been the only one of the survivors to go through the medical testing, but the others had been doing hard labor. His mind suddenly flashes to the placement of the table they’d been sitting at: the back corner of the bar, where they could watch every other table and the door. He’s noticed Bucky watching the doors a few times, now that he really thinks of it, and his whole body feels a little heavier with the sadness that wells up in him.

Riley almost died in a pararescue accident Sam witnessed and still has nightmares about, and Clint lost his hearing in the war, but they’ve all been home for a while now. Steve knows they still have their problems, but Bucky and his friends have barely been back for a year. He can’t imagine how long that kind of thing takes to heal from, even partially.

“Good night,” Bucky says softly, turning to his room.

“Night,” Steve replies, and he hears the click of the lock on Bucky’s door after he closes it.

  
Steve jinxed himself thinking how long it’d been since he’d been in a fight. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before—some asshole catcalling a girl, following her for a while, obviously freaking her out, and Steve can’t just see that happening as he’s walking by and let the poor girl be afraid, so he steps in. She’s only a teenager, and the guy’s some nasty middle-aged asshole, and Steve’s blood boils as he watches the guy jeer and the girl look around, hoping for someone to help her.

As usual, it ends with his face getting the brunt of the guy’s disapproval, but it’s only a punch or two before it starts drawing attention and the guy skips out. Steve actually kind of counts himself lucky; a split lip, a black eye blooming, and bloody knuckles embedded with gravel when he fell down, but nothing serious. He’s had worse.

It’s just his luck Bucky’s home when he gets there. The greeting he’s about to call out when Steve opens the door dies on his lips when he sees Steve.

“What the hell happened to you?” He demands, bolting up from the couch.

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says immediately. “Just some guy hassling a girl.”

“So you decided to let him hassle you instead?” Bucky shoots back.

“She was so young, and she was _terrified_ ,” Steve justifies. “And no one else was doing anything. Everyone just pretending they didn’t see anything even though some kid was getting harassed by a fucking creep.”

Bucky harrumphs and purses his lips. “Hang on,” he says. More like orders, truth be told, and that angry, defiant part of Steve that never dies, no matter what, bristles a little because he doesn’t like being told what to do. Bucky disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a first aid kit.

“Ah, jeez, come on, it’s nothing,” Steve protests. All he really needs to do is wash his hands and he’ll be fine. The black eye will hurt, and the split lip’s going to make eating kind of miserable for a few days, but really, this is pretty tame. The rest of his body isn’t hurt and he’s not sore anywhere.

“Sit your ass down,” Bucky barks, stern-faced, and Steve gets the feeling he’s seeing traces of Sergeant Barnes here. Steve glares but acquiesces, mostly because his face _is_ stinging and his hands hurt. Bucky hands him a bag of frozen peas and Steve doesn’t even have to ask what they’re for, just obediently pushes them to his eye. It won’t do much; he bruises like a peach, thanks to his anemia, and even icing quickly doesn’t help as much as it would for anyone else. He probably looks a lot worse than he feels.

Bucky works quietly, gently picking bits of rock out of Steve’s skin while Steve tries not to wince. There’s more gravel in there than Steve thought, and some of it’s kind of deep.

“You don’t want to let this get infected,” Bucky says, the antiseptic sitting beside him for when he’s finished getting all the gravel out. “Then you’d get sick, and you’d have to go to the hospital. That’s the worst. No one wants to go to the hospital.”

“I’m pretty used to the hospital,” Steve points out, voice muffled behind the bag of peas. He’s on a first-name basis with more than one nurse at the ER, and that’s not even counting the ones who used to work with his mother. Bucky scoffs a little and raises an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t mean you like it or want to be there, tough guy.” Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He does hate the hospital. He hates the pitying looks nurses give him when they see the way all his bones stick out and he hates that awful hospital smell, all harsh and hanging around even after you leave.

He’s hated hospitals his whole life, since he was in and out so much and because of that whole scary instance with the body bag on the elevator, but since his mother’s illness he hates them even more. He doesn’t need reminders of her, and the hospital’s the worse kind of reminder there is, seeing her frail body swamped by the huge bed, tubes in her nose and monitors beeping, the place she’d worked and helped so many other people offering her nothing in return.

Bucky finishes one hand and dabs the antiseptic on it before moving to the other. His metal hand is just as gentle as the flesh one, which Steve is itching to ask about, really. How does he have such amazing motor control? How is it roughly the same size? What kind of metal is it? It’s a little cold, but it feels kind of nice on the broken skin. How does he even move it independently the way he does?

But he doesn’t know how comfortable Bucky would be with those questions. Steve remembers the way Bucky holds his metal arm out of pictures and covers it with a glove and a long sleeve. He thinks of the incident with the egg and how Bucky said he can’t always control it perfectly, and he wonders if he should be a little nervous. It looks pretty strong; Bucky could probably do some real damage if he wanted.

“You got a lot of experience patching people up?” Steve asks instead of voicing anything he’s thinking. Bucky’s mouth twists wryly.

“Well, not really. Morita’s the medic. But scrapes and shiners, I can handle that. You don’t play sports without getting a few bumps and bruises, and everybody learns a little something out in the desert.”

This close, Steve can see each of Bucky’s eyelashes and the mole on the side of his forehead. He can also see how exhausted Bucky looks. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the circles under them are almost scarily dark. He has more than a little stubble at this point, and his hair looks pretty greasy. Steve saw a lot of pictures of a younger Bucky during the wedding; he was always kind of fashionable, and well-groomed and put-together. But right now, Bucky looks like he desperately needs a shower.

“Are you okay?” Steve blurts out.

“Hey, pal, you’re the one who got all beat to hell,” Bucky says, but his jaw gets a little tighter, so Steve knows he understands the real question.

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping,” Steve ventures. He’s read a little about PTSD, since most of his friends have it, but if any of them went through a period like this, it was before Steve knew them. He doesn’t want to make Bucky upset.

Bucky exhales loudly. “And you’d know that how, exactly? You don’t have anything to compare me to.” Well, it’s not a bad point. Steve’s only known Bucky a few weeks and he’s had dark circles under his eyes for all of them, and it’s not like he can gauge Bucky’s behavior on anything else, either.

“I know what someone looks like when they haven’t been sleeping,” Steve finally says. He does know it. He knows it from seeing his own reflection in the mirror, skin sallow and eyes bloodshot, hands shaking and ears ringing, crying and cradling his head in his hands and curling up on the bathroom floor.

Bucky isn’t quite as gentle as he puts antiseptic on this hand, and Steve has to fight hard not to cringe away in pain. Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand for a second and takes a deep breath, and when he starts up the antiseptic again he’s not squeezing too hard. He takes another deep breath and he when he speaks his voice is forcibly even.

“I don’t sleep so good,” he says simply.

Steve watches him for a minute, watches the fan of his eyelashes over his cheek, watches the way his mouth moves around uncomfortably, watches his white teeth come out and sink into his red lip. Steve nods a few times.

“Me neither,” he offers. “You talk to your doctor about it? Get some sleeping pills?”

Bucky jerks back a little. “Don’t want any sleeping pills,” he says with a little shudder, and Steve’s stomach drops. Of course Bucky would be wary of pills. He had _medical experiments_ done on him, and here Steve is, tramping through that minefield like nothing happened. He wants to punch himself.

“Right,” he says softly. Neither of them say anything for a beat, Bucky focusing on wrapping up Steve’s hands. “Well, have you tried any natural remedies? Herbal tea, yoga, that kind of thing?”

Bucky huffs. “Look, don’t worry about me, okay? I sleep when I can and I’m fine.” He gathers up the trash and the first aid kit and stands up. “Don’t go getting into any more fights, huh, Slugger?” He tosses over his shoulder as he leaves the room, and Steve feels bad enough about everything that’s just happened he doesn’t even roll his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look. I absolutely LOVE the movie Far and Away, with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. (A period drama! Adventure! Humor! Enemies to friends to lovers trope! Underground bare-knuckle boxing! Really, really awful fake Irish accents!) But apparently, everyone else in the entire world finds it objectively terrible and way too long. WHATEVER. I graciously did not spoil it, so if you want to watch it, I think your life will be better but don't hate me if you think the movie sucks. Also there's some light talk of suicidal thoughts, but it's Steve's gallows humor and not actual discussion of suicide.

Steve comes in from a walk to find Bucky on the couch watching a movie. He looks guilty, which is weird, and Steve gets worried for a second it’s some kind of porn or something. But he looks at the screen and just sees ocean and moors.

“Hey, that’s Ireland,” he blurts out. Bucky blinks at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “You been there?”

“No…I’ve just seen pictures,” Steve answers lamely. “What movie is this?”

The tips of Bucky’s ears go red as Tom Cruise comes on the screen. “Well, you might not have heard of it. It’s from the 90s.”

“I was alive for just as much of the 90s as you were,” Steve points out.

“It’s called _Far and Away_ ,” Bucky mumbles. And then Tom Cruise starts talking, and Steve can’t help but stare open-mouthed at the screen.

“Is that supposed to be an Irish accent?” He asks incredulously. “That’s horrible.”

“I know,” Bucky says mournfully. “Monty made fun of me for weeks. What are you, some kind of expert?”

“I guess, kinda.” Steve shrugs. “My ma was born and raised in Ireland.”

“Really?” Bucky sits up and pauses the movie. “But you never went?”

Steve shrugs uncomfortably. “Well, I was pretty frail, you know. And plane tickets are expensive.” Bucky looks awkward at the mention of money. Steve wonders how many countries he’s been to, not counting his time in the Army. “Her parents were so mad at her for running away to the States,” Steve goes on, remembering his mother’s stories. “They thought they’d never see her again.”

He doesn’t say anything else. “But they did?” Bucky prompts.

Steve shakes his head. “Nope. They both died even before my ma met my dad.” He realizes this isn’t a very uplifting story. There’s kind of an awkward silence.

“Well…the movie just started,” Bucky says. “You can watch with me. If you want.”

Steve opens his mouth to say no. He should paint. He should look for some kind of job or volunteer position or something, just to stay busy. But he stops. This is the second time Bucky’s asked him to hang out together since they moved in. Bucky’s trying.

“Sure,” Steve says, sitting down on the other end of the couch. Bucky gives him a little smile and starts the movie again.

About an hour into the movie, Steve notices that Bucky is mouthing the words along with the characters.

“How many times have you seen this movie?” He asks, laughing. Bucky immediately goes red.

“A few,” he allows. “I watched it a lot as a kid.”

“Is this your favorite movie?”

“No, my favorite movie is _To Kill a Mockingbird_.”  
  
Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You told me before your favorite movie is _Rocky_.” Bucky makes a face, starting to flush a little. “Is this your favorite movie but you tell people more critically acclaimed movies so you sound more high-brow?” Steve howls with laughter. “That’s the most hipster thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Ugh, shut up,” Bucky says with no heat. He throws a pillow at Steve.

“You can’t just throw pillows at people,” Steve mock-scolds.

“Then why are they called _throw_ pillows?” Bucky shoots back triumphantly. Steve groans and Bucky laughs.

By the time they’re nearing the end of the movie, Steve has to admit he’s sort of hooked. “But she doesn’t love him!” He protests the on-screen events.

“I know,” Bucky commiserates, shaking his head.

“She never loved him!”

“I know,” Bucky says again.

“She doesn’t _stay_ with him, does she?” Steve presses.

“Just keep watching,” Bucky says. Steve huffs and slumps back. But then, of course, there’s the big grand finale, and Steve gapes at the screen.

“Are you kidding me?” He shrieks. “I sat through two and a half hours for _that_?”

“Just wait!” Bucky urges.

“Oh, just wait? Like they can make me happy after—” The camera pans back down and he stops talking. He breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s completely ridiculous,” he scoffs. “Totally illogical.”

Bucky laughs at him. “Okay. You can pretend you weren’t into it all you want, but I was sitting right here the whole time.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he laughs a little. “Fine, I was kinda into it.”

“Kinda, he says,” Bucky mutters under his breath. Steve throws the pillow back at him.

  
Steve’s in his room, painting, when his phone rings. He doesn’t recognize the number and he hesitates, considering just letting it ring through, but then he answers.

“Hello?” He asks.

“Steve?” A woman’s voice comes down the line.

“Yes?”

“This is Becca. Bucky’s sister.” Her next sentence comes out in a rush. “Beth is on her way to your apartment right now.”

“Uh…Bucky’s not here,” he tells her.

“I know that. _She_ knows that. But she’s nosy and she’s heading over.”

“Okay,” Steve says, unsure what she expects him to do. “Should I just not let her in?”

“What?” Becca asks. “You have to let her in. She’s a teenage girl out in the city by herself and you’re just going to let her sit on your doorstep?”

Steve huffs a little and wonders if guilt trips are a family trait. “So, what, I just let her in and let her…sit around?”

“You could try talking to her,” Becca suggests dryly. “That’s why I was giving you a head’s up. So you could get your story ready.”

Steve’s head snaps up and he looks at his unmade bed. “Oh, shit,” he blurts. “All my stuff is in the second bedroom.”

Becca groans. “You guys are _terrible_ at this deception thing.”

“Oh, well, excuse me for not jumping into bed with your brother,” Steve defends himself.

“You don’t have to sleep in the same room,” Becca says slowly. Her tone somehow indicates she’s rolling her eyes at him. “But you could at least put your stuff in the same room so unexpected visitors won’t ask questions.”

The door buzzes. “Too late to do anything about it,” Steve says grimly. “She’s here.”

“Just ask her about her summer camp,” Becca advises. “It might distract her enough so she won’t snoop too much.” She hangs up and Steve goes to let Beth in.

“Hi!” Beth chirps when Steve opens the door.

“Hey,” he answers, a little charmed despite himself. She’s smiling so brightly at him it would be almost impossible to be annoyed with her. She has dimples. Does Bucky have dimples? Surely he would have noticed.

“Sorry I didn’t call ahead,” Beth says, and she actually does sound a little sorry. “But I don’t have your number! How funny is that? You’re my brother-in-law and I don’t have your number!”

That makes Steve feel a little awkward. “Oh, yeah.” He forces a laugh. “Silly.”

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Well?” Steve sighs inwardly and they exchange numbers. Beth flops down on the couch.

“What happened to your face?” She asks, and Steve remembers his black eye and split lip. He’s so used to that kind of thing he kind of forgot.

“I sort of…got in a fight.”

“With who?”

“Uh, some guy. I don’t know. He was giving a girl a hard time and I wanted to help her.” He blushes a little. It seems sort of vain to admit that outside the heat of the moment.

“Wow, that’s brave,” she says admiringly. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he shrugs. There’s an awkward pause.

“It’s almost summer break,” she informs him.

“Awesome,” he says. He always appreciated summer break because it meant he didn't have to worry about keeping up with his homework or missing school when he got sick. “Uh, I hear you’re…going to summer camp?”

Beth’s eyes light up. “I’m going to be a counselor!” She tells him enthusiastically. “I’ve been going to that camp since I was twelve and now I get to be a counselor. All of us went when we were little kids and Bucky was a counselor, too, but Becca and Bailey hated it. Bucky was _such_ a good counselor. He wasn’t _my_ counselor, ‘cause he’s a boy, but I was friends with the boys in his cabin and they all just _loved_ him, so I gotta be a great counselor, too.”

Steve blinks a little at the onslaught of words. He’s gotten really used to whole days of silence, living with Bucky. He still texts with his friends, of course, but it’s been a while since anyone talked so much so quickly to him.

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” Steve promises, even though he has no way of knowing that. He has no idea if Beth is responsible or good with children or anything. But it’s not like he’s going to voice his doubts to her.

“I’m going to be in charge of nine-year-olds,” she says. She furrows her brow. “I don’t know what nine-year-olds like.”

“I don’t really either,” Steve admits. “It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with a nine-year-old.”

Beth rolls her eyes and laughs. “Well, me too! I guess we’ll just make bracelets braid each other’s hair or something.”

“Oh, are you good at braiding hair?” Steve asks.

“Terrible,” Beth says mournfully. Steve can’t help it—he laughs a little. “Bailey keeps trying to teach me but it’s so hard!”

“You could practice on Bucky,” Steve jokes. Beth stops smiling. She gives him a strange, hard look.

“No, I can’t,” she says seriously. “You know how he is about people touching his head.”

Steve, of course, has no idea how Bucky is about people touching his head, but apparently it’s serious enough that he should have known. He swallows hard.

“Sorry,” he says. “Bad joke.”

“Really bad,” she says fiercely. Steve blows out a breath. Just his luck that he’d end up married to not only possibly the most traumatized guy in New York, but also the one with the most protective family. Then he feels bad for thinking it. It’s not like it’s Bucky’s fault he has a lot to deal with, and it’s good that his family is so protective.

“Well, uh,” Steve says awkwardly. “I could try to help you think of some art projects?”

She’s still eyeing him a little warily, but she agrees, and they brainstorm glitter and wind chimes and plaster molds for handprints and tie-dye shirts and she slowly thaws out toward him again.

“Can I use the restroom?” She asks politely, and Steve gets a mental image of four raucous little kids getting manners lessons from a very frustrated Winifred.

“Of course,” he answers. “It’s, uh, the first door on the right.”

Steve knows she’s snooping in the medicine cabinet. For one thing, Becca warned him that Beth is nosy. For another, she’s been gone for a full twelve minutes. He doesn’t know much about teenage girls, admittedly, but it seems like she’d be embarrassed to actually take that long with a near-stranger.

Beth doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she was spying, because she comes charging out of the bathroom asking, “Where’s Bucky’s pillbox?”

“What?” Steve asks.

“Bucky’s pillbox. It isn’t in the bathroom. At home he kept it in the bathroom.”

Steve has no idea where Bucky’s pillbox is. Steve didn’t even know Bucky had a pillbox. But this is another test he’s supposed to pass. “It’s in the bedroom,” he says decisively. That’s where his is.

“Why?” Beth asks suspiciously.

“So he can take his meds as soon as he wakes up,” Steve explains. “I do the same thing.”

“You have meds, too?” She flushes a little after she asks and she suddenly looks so much like Bucky Steve wants to laugh. “Sorry,” she adds quickly. “That’s really rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says with a shrug. “I used to be kinda defensive about it, but I’m not anymore.”

“So maybe someday Bucky won’t be either?” She murmurs. Steve winces a little.

“Well, Bucky’s reasons for needing meds are a hell of a lot more complicated than mine,” he points out. “Mine are mostly physical health.” He sees the way her eyebrow arches when he says that, but she holds back her questions. He smiles at her. “You can ask me whatever you’re wondering.”

Beth bites her lip. “What kind of physical health?”

“Well, I have a heart problem I take meds for. And I have to check my blood sugar, because I have diabetes. And I have problems with my thyroid, so I’ve got medicine for that, too. Plus I have to take heartburn medicine before I can eat, because my stomach’s all full of problems.”

Beth is open-mouthed by the time he finishes his list. “How are you _alive_?” She asks. Steve forces himself not to get annoyed. That’s one of his least favorite questions of all time. For a while, when he was a kid, it was actually kind of touch-and-go. It’s also kind of insulting, like he’d be better off dead since he has so many problems.

But he’s sure that’s not what Beth’s trying to say. She’s a sweet girl, from everything Steve’s seen, and from this side of his teenage years he can see that a lot of teenagers ask insensitive questions without realizing it.

“Well, I take an antidepressant to help with those thoughts,” he jokes. As soon as he says it, he can tell he shouldn’t have. His sense of humor’s always been dark, because it was the best way to cope with what was happening to him. His mom always got it, and she’d had a similar sense of humor.

But clearly, this upper-middle-class teenage girl who gushes about tie-dye shirts and summer camp is not the right audience for gallows humor.

“You want to kill yourself?” She whispers, eyes huge.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, Beth, I didn’t mean—” Steve tries.

“Does everyone with depression want to kill themselves?” She goes on, voice starting to quaver. “B-Bucky’s got depression, too. And a bunch of other really bad stuff. Does Bucky w-want to kill himself?”

“I don’t know,” Steve tells her honestly, because he’s not going to lie. “But listen, I’m so sorry, it was just another bad joke. I shouldn’t laugh about that.”

Her lower lip’s trembling a little and Steve feels like absolute shit. And then, incredibly confusingly, she throws her arms around him and hugs him. “Steve, I think you’re really nice, and you should never feel bad about yourself or hurt yourself.” She looks up at him hopefully, probably waiting for him to tell her how much better he feels.

It’s almost heartbreakingly oversimplified, honestly, this idea she seems to have that a hug and some kind words would make all his problems go away if he really was having suicidal thoughts, but Steve feels a little lump in his throat all the same.

“Thanks, Beth,” he says. “I promise I’m not going to hurt myself.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “Can I see what your guys’ room looks like?”

Apparently Bucky’s not the only Barnes who doesn’t do conversational transitions well. Steve doesn’t know how he’s going to dodge this one.

“It’s really messy,” he tries.

“How could it be messy with Bucky in there?” Beth snorts. Steve files that away as new information about Bucky he has to remember.

“Well—”

“Oh!” Her whole face goes bright red. “It’s _messy_. Right.”

It takes Steve a second to figure out what she’s saying, and then _his_ face goes bright red. Great. He just gave Bucky’s seventeen-year-old sister the mental image of them having sex. Everything about this entire situation is so awkward it makes him want to hide in the couch cushions.

“Uh…” Steve stammers a little. “Well, I mean…”

“It’s okay,” Beth cuts him off quickly, voice a little higher-pitched than usual. “I get it. You just got married. That’s…” She nods uncomfortably and Steve nods back. They don’t meet each other’s eyes for a beat.

“I should probably go home,” she finally says. “Ma’s probably wondering where I am.”

“You didn’t go home after school,” Steve realizes, noticing her backpack. She shrugs sheepishly.

“I texted her and said I’d be late.”

“Well, do you feel comfortable riding the subway alone? Do you do that often? I can come with you if you need me to.”

Beth gives him an exasperated but, he thinks, kind of fond look. “Steve, I was born and raised in Brooklyn. I can handle the subway.”

“Alright, well, I’m just saying. There’s a lot of creeps on there most of the time,” Steve points out. “And you’re young so they probably think you’re an easy target.”

“I’ve been wanting to take a self-defense class,” she admits. “I think it’d be fun. And I want to learn to kill someone with my bare hands.” She holds her hands up in fists and Steve laughs.

“My friend Natasha could teach you,” he says. “I know she knows how to choke people out with just her legs. I’ll ask her how she feels about a pupil. Maybe Bailey, too. And Becca. All three of you could use it.”

Beth’s eyes light up. “Steve, you’re the best!” She cries, throwing her arms around him again. The Barnes family is definitely full of huggers. Steve isn’t used to that. He and his mom hugged, of course, when the situation called for it, but they were never like this, just hugging any old time. And so _emotional_. Steve’s always been a tad dramatic, according to some people, but it’s usually just him getting worked up about justice and fairness.

“See you later,” he says as she heads out the door. He closes the door behind her and leans against it for a second. He shakes his head. This is going to be quite a year.

Steve doesn’t tell Bucky about the multiple awkward conversations he had with Beth. It was bad enough living through it; he doesn’t want to relive it by talking about it. He does mention, though, her worry about his pillbox.

“I think she was afraid you chucked it or something,” Steve says, making sure his voice is wholly unconcerned so Bucky doesn’t think he’s prying. Bucky gives him a look and disappears into his room. He comes back out carrying a regular M-Sun pillbox…with about a dozen of those craft googly-eyes glued onto it. Steve does a double take.

“The girls did that,” Bucky tells him, rolling his eyes.

“Why?” Steve asks, unable to stop himself from laughing.

“Depends which one you ask,” Bucky says. “Beth says it was just for fun. Bailey says they’re cute. Becca just tells the truth. She wanted to remind me they’re always watching me to make sure I take my pills.”

Steve shakes his head, laughing. “Well, you can’t pretend they don’t care about you,” he points out.

“They could care in a way that seems less like something a serial killer might do,” Bucky mutters, shaking the box so the eyes move around. Steve laughs so hard he snorts, and then Bucky starts laughing at him and shakes the box again.

“Stop,” Steve gasps. “’m gonna have an asthma attack.”

“Oh, don’t pull that card on me,” Bucky protests, shaking the box menacingly, making his eyes wide to match the googly-eyes. Steve doubles over, clutching his stomach. Bucky relents and lets Steve catch his breath. They’re quiet for a minute, and then Bucky’s phone buzzes. His brow furrows as he reads the text, then he gives Steve a horrified look.

“Why did Beth just send me a text that says congrats on the sex?!”

  
Steve’s getting ready for his weekly dinner with his friends, passing a comb through his hair and trying to coax his bangs into the right configuration he likes, when he has a sudden thought. He fights with himself a little, wondering if the idea he has is really a good one or not, but he puts down his comb, squares his shoulders, and walks into the living room.

“Hey,” he tells Bucky brightly. “Uh, so, I’m having dinner with some of my friends. Sam and Riley and Natasha and Clint.” Steve pauses for a second as he realizes that isn’t _some_ of his friends—it’s _all_ of his friends. He shakes himself a little. “Do you want to come?”

Bucky runs a hand over his stubbly chin. “You sure?” He asks. “I kinda…got the feeling Sam doesn’t like me much.”

Steve winces. “It’s not that he doesn’t like you,” he assures Bucky. “He just thinks this whole situation is weird and he’s worried it’ll be bad for me.”

Bucky purses his lips. “Well, I think there’s more to do it than that,” he says quietly. “He knows a lot more about me than you do.”

That makes Steve gulp a little. It’s true, and Sam has sort of seemed to be holding back a little when it comes to talking about Bucky. But it’s _Sam_. He’d never be rude to anyone unless they provoked him first, and Steve doesn’t think Bucky’s going to do that.

“Come on,” Steve cajoles with a little shrug. “It’ll be fun. And Riley’s a really good cook.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “Just remember what happened last time and don’t get mad at me if something like that happens again.”

Steve doesn’t know what he’s talking about for a second, and then he remembers the egg incident the day they made cookies. He almost wants to laugh, but Bucky doesn’t look the least bit teasing or amused.

“That wasn’t really your fault,” Steve points out. “And it wasn’t even a big deal.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow but lets it drop. “What time do we need to leave? I got time to shave?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve tells him. “You don’t have to shave if you don’t want to, though. It’s not like a big, fancy thing.”

“I’m, uh.” Bucky shifts a little, uncomfortable. “I like being clean-shaven.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and then he suddenly realizes Bucky’s wearing actual jeans instead of sweatpants and his hair looks recently-washed. Maybe he’s trying to clean up a bit or something. “Okay.”

Bucky fidgets all the way up to Sam and Riley’s door, and Steve has to fight the urge to tell him to calm down. It probably wouldn’t be helpful. He hits the buzzer.

“What’s the password?” Riley teases.

“Riley smells,” Steve shoots back. Riley buzzes them in, and Steve can already hear him laughing. Bucky is tense at his side and Steve shoots him a smile to try to help him relax a little.

“Helloooo—oh,” Riley stops short when he sees Bucky. “Didn’t know you were bringing the hubster.”

“Good God,” Sam groans from the other room. “You did not just say _hubster_.”

“No question about it,” Riley says unapologetically. “Clint and Natasha aren’t here yet. You know how Clint is. He probably fell down a manhole on the way here or something.”

“So Natasha will show up without him soon,” Steve laughs. “Need me to do anything?”

“Hell no!” Sam protests quickly. “You know you’re banned from helping.”

“Well, seems like _someone_ should!” Steve calls back. “Since you’re probably back there flexing in the mirror.”

Riley tips his head back and laughs while Sam throws back, “Fuck you, Rogers. You’re just jealous Riley locked down this hot bod before you could.”

“You make fun of me for saying hubster and then you say bod,” Riley says, rolling his eyes. “You know how I feel about double standards.”

“Yeah, well, next time you get pulled over just for your skin color we can really talk double standards,” Sam challenges as he walks into the kitchen. Riley just gives him the finger. “Hey, Barnes,” Sam greets Bucky. “Nice to see you.”

Bucky’s shoulders are practically touching his ears at this point. “I hope it’s okay I’m here.”

“Of course it is,” Riley says smoothly, pulling a pan of garlic bread out of the oven. “It’s only fair that everyone who’s had to spend a lot of time with Steve comes together to commiserate. It’s like a support group.”

Before Steve can say anything back, the buzzer sounds again. Sam makes bird noises into the intercom.

“Open the door, Tweety,” Natasha says.

“Hear that?” Sam asks, exaggerating excitement. “She called me sweetie.”

“Hmm, should I fight her?” Riley teases.

“We all know you’d lose,” Steve points out. Riley presses a hand dramatically to his heart.

“You wound me. I think I could at least outrun her. My legs are longer than her whole body.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Natasha says once they get inside. She gives Clint a look. “ _Someone_ was in his boxers on the couch watching Dog Cops when I got home from work.” She signs while she speaks so Clint doesn’t miss a word of her rebuke.

“I forgot it was Friday,” Clint defends himself. “My work schedule’s been all weird.”

“Food’s just ready now,” Riley says.

“Uh, you guys all remember Bucky,” Steve breaks in. Everyone, including Bucky, looks at him a little incredulously. Clint starts laughing out loud.

“No, we forgot the guy you married,” he says.

“I was your best woman,” Natasha reminds him.

“It was like two weeks ago,” Sam adds.

“Alright, alright,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, Steve, you remember Natasha, don’t you?” Clint asks. Steve gives him some special sign language that’s universal. All the teasing seems to be helping Bucky relax. Probably because he’s used to his friends mocking each other, too. He’s even smiling a little.

“We’re going to be incredibly classy tonight,” Riley announces. “And drink fruit punch Kool-Aid out of wine glasses.”

“Oh, awesome.” Clint fist pumps.

“You guys can drink wine,” Steve starts up the same argument they have every week.

“Who wants salad?” Sam asks, completely ignoring Steve’s protests.

“Really, I’m not going to be uncomfortable if you guys drink,” Steve tries again.

“Hey, grab the forks, honey bun,” Riley calls over his shoulder as he brings the food—some kind of chicken and mushrooms over pasta—to the table. Sam doesn’t even bat an eye at the nickname. They’ve been dating for too long for him to be surprised by Riley’s antics anymore.

Steve rolls his eyes at the way they’re pointedly pretending not to notice what he’s saying even though he’s signing right along as he speaks. It’s second-nature now, when they’re all gathered like this or just any time he’s with Clint.

“How _is_ your job, anyway?” Sam asks Clint. Since his discharge from the Army, Clint’s had a little trouble with work. It’s not an uncommon problem. For the last two months, he’s been teaching archery classes.

“I think this one’s going to actually stick,” Clint says, sounding half-excited and half-cautious. “I like it.”

“He likes showing up all the other teachers by being better than they are,” Natasha adds proudly. Clint shrugs a little, but he’s got a pleased little smile on his face at her praise.

“What about you, Bucky?” Riley asks. “Do you have a job?”

All the ease goes out of Bucky’s shoulders and he’s immediately tense again. “Not really,” he mumbles. “I help out at one of my dad’s stores sometimes.” Steve didn't even know that. He figures it explains where Bucky goes all day.

“Well, that sounds good,” Riley ventures. He looks a little guilty at making Bucky uncomfortable. “I bet your dad’s happy to have the help.” Bucky shrugs and doesn’t say anything else. Sam purses his lips.

“So, Riley, how’s your class?” Natasha changes the subject. Steve gives her a grateful look. He doesn’t know why Bucky’s being so weird. Sure, he’s only met Steve’s friends once, but he’s seen Bucky be charming and funny. Why is being so awkward now? He doesn’t even say a single word for the rest of dinner.

Steve’s in the kitchen with Sam, doing the dishes, and they can see the others sitting in the living room. Bucky’s sitting on the far end of one of the couches, away from everyone else, not talking, whole body tense and uncomfortable.

“This is what I was worried about,” Sam murmurs. “I was afraid he’d be like this.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Look at him, Steve,” Sam sighs. “He’s like this at the VA, too. He’s standoffish. Pretty damn hostile, even.”

“Well, after what happened to him—” Steve starts.

“Man, I know,” Sam cuts him off gently. “You don’t have to tell me about that. But just because it explains his behavior doesn’t mean it excuses it. He’s gotten downright nasty a few times with his counselor.”

“He’s just having a hard time,” Steve protests. “He’ll get better.”

Sam gives him a sad little smile. “It’s not something he’s ever going to get over, Steve,” he says. “He can learn to live with what happened, and he can find happiness again, like you did after your mom died. But so far he hasn’t shown much desire to do that. And you can’t forget yourself because you're trying to drag him there.”

Steve processes that for a second. “So, what are you saying?” He asks. “I should just…avoid him? Leave him alone? Not try to be friends with him?”

Sam shakes his head. “I know you too well to think you’d ever do that. I’m just saying you need to remember to set boundaries. Your mental health matters here, too, Steve, and I’m worried you’ll run yourself ragged trying too hard on something that’s never going to happen.”

“He’s not like this when it’s just us,” Steve says. “He’s—he’s really funny. He’s a lot more comfortable one-on-one. And with his family. You should see him with his niece and nephew!”

Sam nods. “Okay. Maybe he _is_ trying. Maybe he doesn’t feel comfortable because I’m here and I remind him of the VA, and he’s certainly not comfortable at the VA. But remember what I said when I wouldn’t be your therapist?”

Steve bites his lip. He remembers being so _angry_ that Sam would refuse to help him when he needed it the most. He met Sam not long after his mom died, and he was not in a good place. He remembers thinking Sam was abandoning him, Sam must not have really cared about him, Sam was a terrible friend for not being there for Steve when he had the tools to do it.

“You said you could be my friend or you could be my therapist but you couldn’t be both,” Steve says. “You said the emotional toll would be really high on you and you’d end up burning out and not helping me as much as someone else could.”

“Keep that in mind, okay?” Sam asks. “There’s nothing wrong with caring. But you always want to save everyone and I’m worried you’re going to try to be both for him. And you’re not even a therapist!”

“I know, I know,” Steve says.

“Promise me you’ll set your boundaries?” Sam pleads. “You’ll be a friend and not try to take too much of his weight on you that you can’t carry?”

Steve looks at Bucky, hunched on the couch and looking miserable, and then he thinks of the Bucky who throws pillows at him and shakes googly-eyed pillboxes and gently picks gravel out of Steve’s knuckles. He thinks of the Bucky who bounces little kids on his knee and thinks of the love and concern in Winifred’s eyes every time she looks at her son, and he wonders how he’s supposed to not get invested in trying to help.

“Yeah, Sam,” Steve says, watching Bucky run a nervous hand through his hair. “I promise.”


	7. Chapter 7

Steve doesn’t say anything to Bucky about how awkward the whole night was with him basically refusing to speak. Judging by the miserable look on Bucky’s face, he’s well aware. In fact, they don’t say anything to each other all the way home. Or for the next three days afterward.

It seems like a huge step back, now that Steve’s gotten used to sitting around the apartment together, eating dinner together and watching TV. Bucky goes back to his schedule of being gone before Steve gets up and not getting home until Steve’s gone to bed.

But he comes home early on Monday night, looking grim and determined. He focuses his laser-eyes on Steve immediately and Steve can’t help but squirm.

“Bailey’s graduation is Saturday,” Bucky says, no preamble or anything.

“Oh,” Steve answers eloquently.

“Are you coming?” Bucky asks. He raises his right hand to his mouth and chews at the side of his thumbnail. “I mean, you don’t have to. Family events weren’t exactly part of the contract.”

“Well,” Steve starts slowly. “She’s probably expecting I’ll be there. And Beth, too. Right?”

Bucky shrugs. “You don’t have to do things just because they’re expecting it,” he mumbles. “You don’t have to do anything just because _anyone_ ’s expecting it. Don’t do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Steve lets that sink in. Bucky’s fidgeting a little and Steve realizes Bucky thinks he’s only been agreeing to hang out together because he thinks people are expecting it. He wants to point out no one was around in their apartment to expect anything from him, but he holds it in. But then, of course, now that Bucky’s mentioned not doing anything just for expectations, Steve gets worried _Bucky_ ’s only been doing things to meet expectations.

Maybe he didn’t really want Steve to come to the bar and meet his friends. Maybe he didn’t want to come along to dinner but thought he had to. Maybe he’d rather spend all day outside the apartment doing God knows what than spend a minute with Steve.

Steve swallows. He’s almost thinking of Bucky as a friend, sure, but he doesn’t want Bucky around if Bucky doesn’t want to be around. Steve likes being liked—everyone does, don’t they?—but he got over the need to be liked by _everyone_ long ago. He never would have made it through middle and high school if he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to do anything just because people are expecting it, either,” Steve ventures. “I’d like to…I mean. If you don’t mind, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to go to the graduation.”

They stare at each other for a minute. Then Bucky nods jerkily. “I’ll tell Ma,” he says, and then he goes to his bedroom and closes the door behind him. Steve doesn’t see him for the rest of the night.

  
Bucky doesn’t exactly avoid him the rest of the week, but they don’t see much of each other. Bucky’s always gone all day, the same he has been the whole time Steve’s been living there, and sometimes he comes home around dinnertime and sometimes Steve doesn’t see him at all. They’re polite and kind of stiff around each other, and Steve hates it.

He hates how awkward it is. His anxiety makes social situations hard enough—always wondering if people are whispering about him, always thinking everyone’s judging how small and thin and frail he looks—but this is constant, because he _lives_ here. Home is where you’re supposed to be able to relax, but Steve’s completely on edge when he and Bucky are both home because he can’t stop dreading and agonizing over the awkwardness between them.

It’s a tiring week.

Saturday rolls around and Steve’s not sure what to wear. He’s been to exactly one high school graduation: his own. It hadn’t mattered much what he’d worn under the gown. But Bailey probably goes to some fancy private school for rich kids. Is Steve supposed to wear a suit or something?

He deliberates for five minutes, warring with himself, before he finally sucks it up and knocks on Bucky’s bedroom door. He can hear some shuffling around, a thump and then Bucky cursing to himself, and then Bucky opens the door in boxers and a t-shirt. It’s nearly time to go, and he looks rough.

“Uh…” Steve starts out strong. “What do I wear?”

“You want me to dress you?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at himself. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t want you to dress me,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “I just mean—what’s the dress code? Is this a super fancy kind of thing or can I wear jeans?”

Bucky shrugs. “You can wear whatever you want.”

Steve huffs impatiently. “But what’s the _dress code_?” He asks.

“Are you worried about getting detention or something?” Bucky teases. “I don’t know. Business casual?”

“Okay,” Steve says absently, mentally going through his closet. “I think can do business casual.”

“I believe in you,” Bucky says, overly-serious. Steve rolls his eyes again. Bucky makes him do that a lot.

“I thought we had to leave in an hour,” he points out, looking at Bucky’s wardrobe of boxers and a t-shirt so faded the only word Steve can make out on it is _ball_. Now Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Ma, I know.”

“I’m not even offended, because your mother is great,” Steve tells him.

That makes Bucky laugh a little. “She _is_ the one signing your paychecks.”

Steve frowns a little, because that wasn’t what he meant, but Bucky waves a hand at him. “I know, I know, my mother is a saint and everybody loves her.” The words almost sound sarcastic, but Bucky’s tone is completely sincere. “I’ll be ready before you will,” he adds challengingly.

Steve scoffs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“You want to bet on it?” Bucky asks. “First one ready gets to pick where we eat breakfast tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Steve throws over his shoulder, already running back to his room.

“Cheater!” Bucky protests over the slam of his door.

Steve wins. He knew he would; he was already showered, unlike Bucky, and he could go two or three days without shaving and barely growing any stubble. Bucky is only an impressive two minutes behind, but Steve still feels entitled to lord those two minutes over him.

“You thought you were so slick,” Steve teases on the train ride, shaking his head.

“Maybe if _someone_ hadn’t cheated and run off before we actually sealed the deal, it would have been fair,” Bucky counters.

“Oh, please,” Steve sneers. “At most I had thirty seconds on you. That leaves a minute and a half of you being slow.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No way. The only reason you won was because you cheated.”

Steve just laughs, but then he notices a little splotch of blood on Bucky’s jaw. “Oh, hang on,” he says. “I think you nicked yourself shaving.” Bucky reaches up a finger to press to it and misses by a few centimeters. “Left a little,” Steve instructs. “No, too far, go back the other way. Down a little. A little more.”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Just show me.”

Steve obliges by reaching out and pressing his finger to the spot. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I meant on your own face,” Bucky mutters. Steve’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry.” Then he realizes Bucky is breathing deep, eyes closed. Steve snatches his hand away. “God, _sorry_. Is that something—bad for you?”

“I don’t like things in my face,” Bucky says, voice forcibly stead. “Especially when I’m not expecting it.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts. Steve would keep apologizing, but Bucky opens his eyes and glances around the compartment, checking out if anyone’s looking. Steve snaps his mouth shut. He wants to punch himself. He always manages to ruin it when they’re finally having a good time together. They’re never going to end up friends. Things will always be uncomfortable and strained between them.

He slumps down into his seat, trying to gear up for the inevitable awkwardness of this graduation with all of Bucky’s family. There’s a commotion at the next station as a guy tries to get on the train before everyone’s gotten off, and then there’s a lot of shouting and swearing.

“He a friend of yours?” Bucky asks.

Steve frowns, confused. “No? I’ve never seen that guy before in my life. Why?”

Bucky shrugs. “He’s a cheater. Birds of a feather, you know.”

It takes Steve a minute to get what Bucky’s saying, and then he tips his head back and laughs, surprised. “I can’t believe what a sore loser you are,” he shoots back.

Bucky’s got a pleased little smirk on his face. “Says the guy who cheated because he wanted to win.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Steve insists for the thousandth time. “I’m just better than you.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to bark out a surprised laugh. “You’re a goddamn punk,” he says, but it doesn’t sound angry like Steve’s used to hearing from people. It almost sounds…affectionate.

“Yeah, well, you’re a jerk,” Steve tells him, but he can’t help the grin on his face. Bucky shakes his head, still laughing a little, and the rest of the ride is companionable.

Bucky hesitates just a beat outside the high school, but he gives Steve a look that plainly means _can it_ before Steve can even open his mouth. Steve was right—it _is_ a big, fancy school. There’s a nice grassy quad, lots of windows, and no metal detectors on the door. It’s very different than the school Steve went to.

“Was this your high school?” Steve asks as they fight through the crowd. He keeps a close eye on the people around Bucky, hoping no one jostles him too much.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. It’s a little curt, but mostly because he’s so tense about the crowd, so Steve doesn’t feel too hurt over it.

There are actual ushers to show them to their seats, not just underclassmen like at Steve’s own graduation, though they don’t really need the guy once they get to the right section in the auditorium—George spots them and starts waving his arms in big, sweeping arcs.

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky mutters as his father’s antics draw the whole room’s attention. Steve snorts. It’s not his family, so he’s free to laugh and not be mortified the way Bucky is.

“James!” Winifred calls, adding to the hubbub. “Steve! We’re up here!”

Bucky nods and lifts his hand, motioning at all the people in front of them by way of explanation for why they’re not immediately ascending the stairs, but George doesn’t stop waving until Bucky sighs, cups his hands around his mouth, and yells back, “We see you!”

Steve can’t help it—he’s laughing a little. Bucky rolls his eyes. “My whole life it’s been like this,” he complains. “Look at poor Bethy.”

Beth is hunched so far down in her seat she’s practically on the floor. The top of her forehead—the only part of her they can actually see—is bright red.

“Well, now I feel a little bad for laughing,” Steve admits.

“Only for her and not for me?” Bucky asks, outraged. Steve gives him a look.

“You’re a grown man. She’s a teenager.”

“Sure, a grown man with intense social anxiety and deep psychological scarring,” Bucky points out. Steve narrows his eyes. Both those points are true, probably; he doesn’t know for sure or anything, but it certainly makes sense. But if Bucky were actually self-conscious about those things—or at least self-conscious about them in this context—he wouldn’t be so flippant about them. Steve knows a thing or two about hiding your perceived weak points.

“Are you going to try to tell me you’ve been psychologically scarred by your parents waving at you in public?” Steve asks skeptically. Bucky huffs.

“No sympathy. Some husband you are.”

“Shit, I knew I was forgetting some of my husbandly duties.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Wow, this conversation could go a few different ways.”

Steve’s face goes brick-red. “That’s not—shut up!” He sputters.

Bucky’s cracking up laughing when they finally reach his parents and sister.

“Oh, what’s so funny?” Winifred asks, smiling at the sound of Bucky’s laughter as she kisses him on the cheek. Steve gives Bucky a furious look, which only serves to set him off laughing again.

“Nothing, Ma,” he says through his chuckles. “It’s an inside joke.”

“It’s probably gross,” Beth points out, cocking an eyebrow at Steve. His blush deepens and Bucky laughs harder. Beth nods. “I knew it.”

“It’s not like _that_ ,” Steve says hastily.

“Like what, Stevie, doll?” Bucky asks, all innocence, and Steve glares. Beth starts giggling at how red his face is.

“You two quit ganging up on Steve,” Winifred orders, giving Steve's shoulders a squeeze. “It’s not fair.”

“I’m sure Steve can take it,” George says. “If he’s met Dugan and the other boys.”

“He has,” Bucky confirms. “They love him.”

“They love to tease me,” Steve protests. “They think I’m bossy.”

“You _are_ bossy,” Beth says. “You’re as bossy as Bucky! I don’t know how you two get along with all that bossing each other around.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This is not a group that can have a discussion about bossiness,” he says, pulling on the end of a strand of Beth’s hair. “Everyone here is bossy.”

“Well, I am a literal boss,” George defends himself, then looks confused when Beth, Steve, and Bucky all laugh. “What?” He asks. “I am.”

The emcee—Steve doesn’t know if she’s the principal or what—comes to the microphone and asks everyone to take their seats. Winifred looks around worriedly.

“I don’t see Becca and Mark anywhere,” she frets. “She knows they’re not supposed to be late! They might not let them in!”

“There they are,” Bucky says, pointing out Becca and her husband, each with a child in their arms, looking around the room. George starts up his windmill impression again, and Steve has to admit, it’s a little more embarrassing sitting right next to it.

“Becca!” Winifred bellows. “Mark!”

Bucky sighs. Beth giggles, but slumps again, and Steve sees Becca make a pained face at her parents.

Finally, everyone is seated and the ceremony gets underway. The emcee—she’s not the principal but the headmaster, which is a distinction Steve doesn’t understand at all—welcomes everyone and gets boring very quickly.

“Bampa,” Jamie calls, squirming out of Mark’s arms. He crawls across Bucky, who tickles him for his trouble and makes him squeal loudly, and then across Steve. He pauses for a second on Steve’s lap.

“Hello,” Steve whispers awkwardly. Jamie pokes a finger into Steve’s cheek.

“This is Steve,” Bucky tells Jamie. “Can you say Steve?”

Jamie, apparently, does not want to even try. He just stares at Steve with big, blue eyes. He leans in closer and Steve does his best not to rear away from him. He presses the tip of his little nose right up against Steve’s. Steve shoots Bucky a look—with his just his eyes, because he can’t move his head. He’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to jostle babies’ heads. Does that count for toddlers? When does a baby become a toddler? Steve's not going to risk it.

Bucky is no help whatsoever. He’s laughing harder than Steve’s ever seen him laugh.

“Jamie, what’re you doing?” Becca hisses down the line. “Get out of Steve’s face.”

Jamie shakes his head, shaking Steve’s head in the process. Bucky lets out a squeak as he tries to hold in his laughter. George looks over and pauses when he sees what’s going on. Then he snorts and nudges Winifred. She actually giggles and then, to Steve’s horror, pulls out her camera and takes a picture.

The camera is apparently what gets Jamie’s attention off Steve. He pulls away from Steve and smiles charmingly.

“Pisha, Bamma!” He requests. “Pisha me.”

“Does he speak a different language?” Steve asks Bucky.

“No.” Bucky gives him a weird look. “That was English. He’s only twenty months old.”

That doesn’t really mean anything to Steve. Jamie finally tires of him and gets back to crawling to his original goal—George’s lap. Things are pretty stately and boring after that. Some semi-famous local author drones on about the memories the kids made in these halls and the life-long friendships they forged. Steve fights against the urge to roll his eyes. He did not make any life-long friendships in high school. He did make a few potentially life-long enemies, though.

The author guy finishes and the valedictorian gets up to talk about the people who got all the kids through high school—the teachers, the guidance counselors, the tutors, the parents. She spends a long time recounting memories of her mother sitting up late at night with her to help her finish projects or listen to her cry over her math homework.

And of course all Steve can think of is his own mother. He’s sitting there, in some fancy private school auditorium, at the middle of a graduation ceremony for a girl he’s met twice, and his eyes prick with tears at the overwhelming wave of how much he misses his mom.

This doesn’t happen as much as it used to, now that Steve’s gotten used to living without her. For an entire year after she died, every little thing set Steve off—hot dog vendors, because Sarah loved street food; flower shops, because she would go inside and just sit amongst the blooms for hours; even just seeing small women with blonde hair.

He didn’t go to his college graduation; it was during the first year after Sarah died, when he honestly didn’t go much of anywhere. He’d finished because he’d promised Sarah he would, but the thought of sitting through that ceremony without her in the audience made him feel sick to his stomach.

So now he’s blinking back tears and remembering Sarah at his high school graduation, flushed with pride and snapping a thousand photos. It doesn’t help that he can see Winifred out of the corner of his eye, camera in her lap, dabbing at her own tears. His stomach starts to ache.

 _Keep it together, Rogers_ , he orders himself sternly. There’s no way he’s going to cry in public, especially not surrounded by strangers. He wishes his fingernails were longer so he could dig them into his palms. He clenches his fists and his jaw and breathes through his noise.

It’s finally time for the graduates to march across the stage. They don’t have to wait long, since Barnes is pretty high up in the alphabetical order, and when teacher reading names says, “Bailey Ann Barnes”, Steve starts clapping. Bucky shoots him a look. They’re not supposed to clap until the end. Right. Everyone here is civilized and fancy and obeying the rules.

They sit through the rest of the graduates, with Beth whispering tidbits of gossip about each students, and Steve forces himself to pay close attention to everything she says so he doesn’t get lost in missing his mother. He can’t go into his own head right now.

But then, of course, they have to wade through a crowd of proud parents and the emotional graduates hugging them, and Steve doesn’t know if he’s going to make it. He focuses on staring at the splotch of paint on his shoe while Winifred and George envelope Bailey and snap pictures. He must have left his shoes on the floor and dripped on them. He never wears shoes when he paints.

“Alright, we need a picture of the whole family,” George says.

“I’ll take it,” Steve offers.

“No, honey, you’ll be in it, too,” Winifred insists.

“Oh, I…” Steve looks at Bucky, who just shrugs at him.

“Well, of course you’ll be in the picture,” Bailey says, confused. “It’s a family picture.”

Steve swallows down the awkward lump in his throat as Winifred hands off the camera to one of Bailey’s friends to take the picture. Bucky slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders and winds his other arm—the metal one—behind Bailey’s back.

“Everybody smile,” George orders. “Don’t look weird.”

“Dad, you know Bucky doesn’t do it on purpose,” Becca shoots out quickly. “It’s just his face.”

“Ha and ha,” Bucky says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Stop,” Winifred says mildly. “Just smile for one picture and then you can look and act like hooligans all you want.”

“Oh, boy, I can’t wait,” Bailey pipes up. “I’m gonna find a slingshot and shoot a rock through someone’s window.”

“Let’s rub dirt on our faces,” Beth adds.

“Don’t give the kid any ideas, please,” Mark begs, Jamie squirming in his arms.

“Say cheese!” Bailey’s friend says.

“Teese!” Jamie calls out.

Steve feels a little suffocated. The Barneses are incredibly nice, and the situation with randomly marrying into the family could’ve been so much worse, but right now he just wants to get away from them. They’re too close-knit, too happy. He was already missing his mother, and now their love for each other is like a thorn.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Steve mumbles in Bucky’s ear.

“Okay,” Bucky answers, face blank of all expression. “Go out that door and down the hall. It’s on the right.”

“Thanks.”

The bathroom is blessedly quiet. He braces his hands on the sink and lets his chin drop to his chest, breathing deep. He pulls out his phone and texts Sam.

 _I hate graduations_.

Sam’s answer comes almost immediately. _Need me to be sick or something and you need to come take care of me?_

The gets a smile out of Steve. That’s always his blanket offer to his friends when they’re somewhere they don’t want to be. Sometimes having a reputation for frailty can be quite beneficial.

_Nah the hard part’s over and now I get free food._

_Bring leftovers_ , Sam requests. _Especially cake._

Steve looks at himself in the mirror. “You can do this,” he whispers to his reflection. He’s not going to break down crying. He’s not going to lash out at anyone. He takes slow, deep breaths and reminds himself anger at other people’s happiness is a pretty shitty reaction. And then he squares his shoulders and he gets back to the fray.

It wasn’t just wishful thinking—he really is through the hardest part, the emotional rollercoaster of a graduation. And if there’s one thing he loves, it’s free food. The only shaky part comes when Winifred tells him enthusiastically,

“Don’t worry, Steve, this cake doesn’t have any dairy in it—not even butter in the frosting!”

The fact that she went to the trouble of getting a special cake, a _whole_ cake, just for Steve, makes that ache come back into his stomach. He’s grateful, but it makes him miss his mom even more. He forces a smile and thanks her politely, because he can practically feel his ma glaring pointedly at him from heaven, but he winds up being pretty quiet the rest of the night.

Bucky just looks at him for a minute when they get home. “What was the deal?” He finally asks.

“What do you mean?” Steve responds, even though he knows what Bucky means.

“You didn’t have a good time.” Bucky starts to say something else, then stops and swallows. “I said you didn’t have to come.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there,” Steve says, a touch defensively. But he doesn’t add anything else, and Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Sounds really convincing,” he mutters, pushing past Steve. And then Steve just can’t hold it in anymore.

“I miss my mom!” He blurts out, voice wobbling horrifyingly. He snaps his mouth shut and clenches his jaw, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky’s quiet, but Steve doesn’t sneak a peek at his face. Bucky sighs. “Oh,” he breathes.

“It just happens sometimes,” Steve mumbles, red-faced. He’s not embarrassed to miss his mom, and he’s never been embarrassed of his close relationship with her, but he’d been teased about being a mama’s boy his whole life. “And today—all those kids hugging their moms. And _your_ mom is just so…” He shrugs.

“What?” Bucky asks, like he’s not sure if he needs to get defensive. Steve shrugs again.

“Nice to me. She’s just. She does stuff for me. It’s—” He breaks off because that damn lump in his throat comes back.

Bucky nods, pursing his lips a little. “You know, I, uh. I mean, I was on the other side of it. I thought I was gonna die. And I was pissing my pants, scared, you know, and all this shit’s happening and I’m screaming and there was one point where I really thought it was over and I had this thought, just: oh, shit. I’ll never eat my ma’s lasagna again. Just that one dumb thing, you know? And I cried, _Jesus_ , I bawled like a baby. I just wanted my mother.”

He looks up and gives Steve a sad little smile and Steve feels like someone’s sitting on his chest. Not the same way an asthma attack feels—he’s got plenty of experience with that—but the crushing sadness he’s also familiar with. Bucky’s describing _exactly_ what Steve feels like sometimes.

Sure, he gets choked up when he remembers her clipping coupons and eating peanut butter sandwiches but giving him chicken and vegetables and wearing the same worn-out shoes with a hole in the bottom but buying him new drawing pencils, but when he wakes up in the middle of the night crying it’s over the little things—falling asleep to the sound of her singing quietly in the other room, the way she’d bounce on his bed with him on his birthdays, her hand against his forehead when he had a fever.

“I’m really sorry,” Bucky says, face sincere. “I know that’s so stupid, people say it all the time and it doesn’t even mean anything. But I am.”

Steve bites his lip and nods. Somehow it’s different coming from Bucky; it doesn’t feel so flat when he knows Bucky’s been through hell. It’s like a special club they’re in, a club for people who’ve had shittiness in their lives, though Steve knows Bucky wins by a landslide.

“We don’t have to spend so much time with my family,” Bucky offers. “That’s probably hard.”

It is hard. It’s hard to watch Winifred watch Bucky worriedly while pretending she isn’t, knowing Sarah always did the same thing. It’s hard to hear Winifred laugh at her kids’ jokes and call them pet names when he’s not going to hear Sarah calling him _sunshine boy_ and exclaiming over every piece of artwork he shows her.

But he doesn’t want Bucky to feel obligated to spend less time with his family, and Steve would never want to even risk hurting Winifred’s feelings. He doesn’t want her to think he isn’t grateful for how kind she’s been to him through this whole very weird thing.

“It’s kind of nice,” Steve admits quietly. “I kinda…” He sighs a little. “There’s a lot she has in common with my ma.”

Bucky nods. “Okay,” he says. “But anytime it’s too much, you tell me, alright?”

Steve rolls his eyes a little. “Like you do when a crowd is too much?” He says mildly. Bucky gives him a little half-smile.

“Well, you know the old saying—do as I say, not as I do.”

Steve huffs. “Sure.”

They’re not meeting each other’s eyes, a little awkwardness hanging in the air after airing all those feelings, and Steve’s glad it’s late enough that he can use going to bed as an excuse to be alone for a while. Not that he really needs one; he could just go to his room without any explanation at all and it would be pretty par for the course.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he says, because he’s polite if nothing else.

“Night, Steve,” Bucky says.

“Night, Bucky.”

  
Steve doesn’t sleep very well that night, missing his mother so badly it’s an ache in his stomach all night long, and he spends a good chunk of time going through his photo albums of her and crying as silently as he can. He doesn’t know how good Bucky’s hearing is or if Bucky would even _do_ anything if he did hear Steve crying, but he doesn’t want Bucky to hear. Steve never cries in front of people. His mom, sure, because she’s his mom, but even Sam’s never seen him cry, and Sam had to literally drag him out of a gutter one time.

When he gets up the next morning, late because of his bad night, Bucky’s waiting in the living room. “Finally,” he says. “I couldn’t go get any breakfast because you have to pick.”

Steve blinks groggily. “What?” He asks.

“We had a bet yesterday,” Bucky reminds him. “You won. Through cheating, but still. I, at least, am a man of my word. So pick where you want to eat breakfast.” Steve just stares at him for a minute, long enough that the little smirk on Bucky’s face fades a little. “We don’t have to go anywhere,” he says quickly. “We have food here, if that’s what you want.”

But Steve remembers the easy camaraderie between them the night before, the challenging rise of Bucky’s eyebrows and the light trash talk, and he wants it back. Things are still sort of awkward from their heavy talk about their mothers, and Bucky's just trying to make things fun again.

“No, let’s go,” Steve says. “I know I place. I mean, I gotta put some clothes on.” He looks down at his knobby knees and pale, thin legs sticking out from his boxers and giant shirt he’d slept in.

Bucky snorts. “I’ve definitely seen people in public in worse.”

“You have not,” Steve counters. “No one can go in a restaurant like this!”

“I’m guessing this place you know uses the term restaurant lightly,” Bucky mumbles under his breath. Steve would protest, but it’s kind of true; his favorite diner is a grubby, locally owned place with a bulletin board that’s always covered in flyers for different protests and full of patrons in various states of clothed.

Bucky huffs out a little laugh when he sees it, because apparently only knowing Steve for a month is long enough to know this is his kind of place, and Steve does his best to act supremely miffed.

“Punk is like, not even a derogatory term for you,” Bucky points out as they find a table. Steve doesn’t miss the way Bucky passes several empty tables under the windows and picks one in the back corner. “It’s just a description.”

“I don’t have _any_ piercings or tattoos,” Steve argues. He gets infections far too easily for that to be a casual decision. He knows he probably could get a tattoo or piercing, and he’s definitely considered both—his body as a canvas is an idea that’s always fascinated him—but he knows with his luck and medical history, he’d probably get an infection even with the most careful artist.

“Punk is a state of mind,” Bucky says sagely, making Steve laugh. A guy with a mohawk at a nearby table raises his glass in agreement and Steve laughs harder at the surprised look on Bucky’s face.

“Social activism doesn’t necessarily make me a punk,” Steve presses. He’s not entirely sure why he’s arguing this point, but it probably has to do with how often in his life the phrase _you little punk_ has been accompanied by a punch to the face.

“Anti-establishment and individual freedoms are the hallmarks of the punk movement,” Bucky parrots. Steve gives him a strange look. Bucky doesn’t seem the type to know much about anti-establishment or counter-culture movements in general. Bucky shrugs. “I read the Wikipedia.”

Steve barks out a surprised laugh. Bucky _does_ seem the type to read a Wikipedia article about anything and everything. “Well, you probably know more about it than I do, then.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You sassin’ me, Rogers?”

Steve puts on his most innocent face. “Me? Sass? Perish the thought.”

Bucky lets out a loud, long scoff. “I guess I got you confused with some other tiny blond guy who always has a snappy comeback for everything.”

“Must be your other husband,” Steve says serenely, and Bucky laughs so hard he leans over the table. Steve laughs at him laughing, and Bucky kicks him under the table. Steve squawks indignantly and kicks him back. It's so nice to laugh after feeling so bad yesterday.

The waitress, Erica, comes up during their little kick-fight, giving them an amused raise of her eyebrows. “Ready for me or should I come back in a few minutes?”

“We’re ready,” Bucky pants, getting himself under control. But then she looks at him expectantly and he starts laughing again. “I haven’t even opened the menu yet,” he admits.

“I’ll come back,” she says.

“No, no, I know what’s good!” Steve stops her. “I’ve been here enough times.”

“You’re gonna order for me?” Bucky asks skeptically.

“What, don’t you trust me?” Steve throws out flippantly. He realizes after he says it that’s kind of a lot to ask of Bucky; it’s probably a lot to ask of anyone, in general, because they hardly know each other, but Bucky especially probably has issues with trusting people quickly, and his aunt did mention some food issues.

Bucky gives him a funny little smile and hands the waitress his menu. “Alright,” he says. “Order me breakfast.”

Steve’s not entirely sure why, but that makes him blush a little. He orders them both chocolate-chip banana pancakes and veggie omelets.

“They don’t put milk in the pancakes?” Bucky asks. “How do they put chocolate chips in them without milk?”

“They know me here,” Steve says. “They don’t give me any dairy. They have a whole vegan menu, so they have non-dairy chocolate.” He feels a twinge of annoyance that Bucky would second-guess him. “I’ve dealt with food allergies my whole life, you know. I’ve got a pretty good handle on things by now, especially places I’ve been a lot of times.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I figured,” he promises. “I was just curious what kind of chocolate they use.”

 _Curious_. Everything Steve’s learning about Bucky suggests he _is_ really curious. Steve glimpsed a ton of books in his room, lined up in bookshelves and stacked on the floor. He feels a little bad. Until Bucky shoots a straw wrapper at him and hits him right in the glasses. Steve glares at him and Bucky just grins, self-satisfied.

“I don’t miss,” he brags.

Steve rolls his eyes and tries to shoot back, but misses Bucky’s right ear by at least two inches. Bucky only looks more pleased with himself.

“It takes _practice_ ,” he says smugly. If Steve didn’t care about Erica’s hard work in setting the tables, he’d swipe a few straws from the table next to them. Bucky must know what he’s thinking, because his grin broadens.

“Enjoy this while you can,” Steve tells him. “I’ll get you when you least expect it.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Bucky taunts.

Just before they leave, Steve’s about to flick a red pepper at Bucky. He’s pretty sure he could hit him right in the cleft on his chin, and wouldn’t that teach him. But as he starts to get his finger ready, he remembers Bucky saying he doesn’t like things touching his face, especially when he’s not expecting it, and Steve freezes. Something small flying out of nowhere and hitting him in the face? Might freak him out.

They go up to the counter to pay and Steve tries to fight Bucky on it. Bucky gives him a look. “You won,” he points out, handing his card to Erica.

“You guys are really adorable,” Erica says as Bucky signs the receipt. “How long have you been together?”

“Uh,” Bucky sputters, pen slipping from the paper a little and making his signature look wild and messy.

“We’ve been married for about three weeks,” Steve steps in smoothly. Everyone says he’s a bad liar, but he’s _not_. When he’s got his backstory ready, he can do it without batting an eye. And they worked on their backstory a lot to get ready for the wedding.

Erica makes a little _o_ with her mouth. “Oh my God, Steve, I didn't even know you had a boyfriend! And you’re basically still honeymooning! That’s so cute.”

Bucky recovers quickly and slips a hand into Steve’s back pocket. Steve was ready for the lie but he wasn’t expecting _that_ and he jumps a little. Bucky smiles at him innocently.

“I think we’ll _always_ be honeymooning,” he says sweetly.

He’s got Erica practically eating out of the palm of his hand, and Steve rolls his eyes a little. Bucky pulls his hand out of Steve’s pocket when they start walking, but he throws an arm around Steve’s neck and draws him in close. Steve can hear Erica cooing about how sweet they are to her coworkers as they walk out the front door. Bucky leaves his arm there the whole walk home, and Steve forgets to be annoyed by its steady weight.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve’s sketching when there’s a knock on the door. He’s not sketching anything for money, so technically he shouldn’t be so annoyed by the interruption, but he can’t help it. He’s in a groove, that amazing floating feeling where his brain just _shuts up_ and lets him draw.

And of course Bucky’s gone, because it’s daylight and he’s off on his mysterious “appointments”, so Steve has to blink himself back into reality and hastily wipe his smudged fingers on his pants before opening the door.

It’s the UPS guy. Steve stares at him for a minute. The UPS guy stares back. He holds up the little screen thing Steve has to sign.

“You have to sign,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve replies. His signature comes out sloppy because he hates those electronic screens. The stylus never seems to respond the way he thinks it will. Then he’s left with a big box addressed to Mr. and Mr. Barnes and Rogers.

“Huh,” Steve says aloud to the empty room. Does he have to wait for Bucky to open it? He considers that for about half a second, then snorts. It’s also addressed to him, and Bucky’s probably going to be gone for _hours_ , because he always is.

He cuts open the tape and opens the box to find…another box. But this one’s wrapped. There’s a card on top.

_Congratulations, newlyweds! This will help you spend time together…if you can leave the bedroom! Love, Aunt Tabby_

Steve wrinkles his nose. Why does everyone have to allude to their sex life? Okay, sure, if they were actually married they would, ostensibly, be having sex. He thinks about Bucky’s lips for a second. A _lot_ of sex. He shakes himself a little. Okay, whatever. To Aunt Tabby, whoever she is, they really are married, so he guesses he can forgive her.

But Steve deliberates over opening the present. Surely this is something he should wait for Bucky before opening? It’s clearly meant for both of them. He sets it on the couch. He can wait for Bucky.

Two hours later, Steve and the present are staring at each other. It’s just that Steve doesn’t get a lot of presents, and this feels exciting. He wants to open it. But he knows he should wait for Bucky. But it’s already six pm. When’s Bucky coming back? What if it’s one of those nights where he doesn’t come back until midnight and Steve’s already gone to bed? What if he stays the night with his parents? As far as Steve knows, he hasn’t done that since they moved in together, but maybe he will tonight.

Steve is starting to tentatively, guiltily pick at the ribbon tied in a bow on top of the present when the door opens. Steve curses his bad ear for making him miss the scrape of the key in the lock and freezes.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“A wedding present,” Steve admits. “I was going to wait for you!”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at Steve’s guilty face. “Okay.”

“I was!” Steve insists. “I just…didn’t know how long it would be until you got here.”

Bucky spreads his arms. “Well, I’m here now. Have at it.” Steve can’t hold back his excited grin as he pulls at the ribbon and picks off the tape. Bucky makes an exasperated noise. “You’re one of those?” He asks incredulously.

“One of whats?”

“You pull the tape off and slowly open the present and I bet you save the paper, too, don’t you?” Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling.

Steve’s hands still on the package in front of him and he swallows hard. He does, in fact, always save wrapping paper. It was something his mom insisted upon. It wasn’t like they were so hard up that they couldn’t afford wrapping paper, but still. They scrimped on things that were easy to scrimp on.

And there’s Bucky standing in front of him, who’s probably always ripped into packages with no regard for saving anything—or the environmental impact of the packaging, of course—who never watched his mother wrap presents in newspaper, who never prayed people wouldn’t write his name directly on the paper so they couldn’t reuse it.  
  
“What is it?” Bucky asks. Steve can’t look at him. Bucky probably thinks he’s so strange. “Steve?”

“I do,” Steve finally says. “I do save wrapping paper.”

There’s an awkward pause as Bucky processes that. “Oh.”

“There are just a lot of things people throw away when they could just save them, and then they don’t have to…buy them.” Steve clears his throat.

“There’s nothing wrong with saving the wrapping paper,” Bucky says quietly. Steve peeks up at Bucky. He looks a little shell-shocked and Steve’s stomach swoops a little. He just made everything so uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles.

“No, I’m sorry,” Bucky counters. They sit in awkward silence. “Um, so, you want to keep opening it?” Bucky asks, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Steve shrugs. “You can do it if you want.”  
  
Bucky gives him a look. “I made you wait all day. Open it.” He spots the card. “Oh, a card.” His eyes go wide as he reads it. “Jesus, Aunt Tabs. Such a dirty old woman.”

“I thought I met all your aunts,” Steve comments as he goes back to carefully picking at the tape.

“She’s my mom’s aunt, actually. She’s like five hundred years old and lives in Indiana. Doesn’t travel well.” Bucky shakes his head and drops the card on the coffee table, plopping onto the couch beside Steve as Steve finally gets all the wrapping paper off.

He lifts the lid off the box to reveal a stack of board games. He can’t help it—he makes a face. Bucky snorts.

“Tabitha’s a real wild woman,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Board games?” Steve asks incredulously. “I just was expecting…I don’t know what.”

Bucky lifts Battleship up and examines the rest of the games. Monopoly, Scrabble, Mad Gab. “Battleship,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “A war game. How appropriate. Probably not at all likely to send me into a conniption.”

Steve’s used to Bucky making jokes like that now and just flaps a hand at him. “I was banned from playing Monopoly in seventh grade.”  
  
“Banned? Who banned you? Is there a Monopoly police watching you at all times?”

“My mom, my teachers at school, the librarian…” Steve shrugs. “I’m a little competitive.”

“And I’m a little messed up,” Bucky mutters. “Understatement of the year, pal.”

Steve elbows him. “Plus I got banned by Sam and Natasha and Clint last year because I wouldn’t stop ranting about wage inequality and capitalism.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “I want to hear this rant.”

“You really don’t,” Steve warns him. “The Cliff’s notes version is forty-five minutes.”

“How long is the full version?” Bucky asks with a grin.

“I’ve never given the full version,” Steve admits. “Sam let me get an hour and a half into it before he finally broke and made me stop.”

Bucky pulls the lid off the Monopoly box. “Let’s play,” he says. “You can rant the whole time. I want to see how long you can go.”

“Gee, buy me dinner first,” Steve jokes.

Bucky gives Steve an exaggerated scandalized look. “Oh, fine, when I make sex jokes you blush and get embarrassed, but you can do it?”

“Well, when I do it, I know it’s coming!”

“Oh my God, are you trying to make _everything_ sound dirty now?”

Steve points a finger at Bucky. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Barnes. It’s time to cripple each other financially.”

Two hours later, they’re both on the ground, Steve’s done ranting, and Bucky’s been cheating for the last hour anyway, so they give up on Monopoly, though not before Bucky points out, “It’s a little weird that you’re sitting here telling me about the evils of capitalism while also ruthlessly killing me in the game.”

Steve shrugs. “Well, you know, my social views are for real life. This is a game, and I don’t like to lose.”

“Let’s play a different one,” Bucky says. “Mad Gab? I don’t know what this is.”

“Me neither.” Steve opens the box and looks at the cards. “Oh, so they’re jumbled sentences and you have to guess the phrase.”

It takes them five minutes to give up on Mad Gab. Steve already has a hard enough time with words and phrases blending together because of his bad ear; the game isn’t so fun when it’s basically his entire life, anyway. Bucky’s also terrible at guessing the phrases, and he gets oddly frustrated. He didn’t get upset during Monopoly, but this game they’re not even really playing according to the rules and they’re both terrible at has him fuming.

They quickly switch to Scrabble, and Bucky quickly starts kicking Steve’s ass. Steve keeps huffing over every word Bucky lays down, and Bucky just raises a challenging eyebrow in response every time.

“Okay, that’s not a word!” Steve bursts out. “Za?”

Bucky calmly hands over the dictionary and Steve makes as much noise in protest as possible as he flips through to the end. And there is the word za, listed as slang for pizza. Steve throws down the dictionary, annoyed. Bucky, of course, laughs at him.

“Shit, Rogers, you really _don’t_ like to lose, do you?”

“Who likes to lose?” Steve says as he lays down hop. Bucky’s words are way more impressive than his and it’s pissing him off. He reads a lot. He knows words! He just doesn’t have any good letters.

“It’s just a game,” Bucky points out infuriatingly. He’s smirking in a way that means he absolutely knows he’s goading Steve right now.

“How are you so fucking good at this game?” Steve grumbles.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Wow, thanks for the confidence in my intelligence.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve defends himself quickly. “Just—how do you get all the good letters?”

Bucky leans back on his elbows and laughs. “The letters you get are luck, pal. And then I take my vast knowledge of words and turn that luck into skill.”

“You’re making me so mad right now,” Steve tells him, forcefully rearranging his letters.

“You don’t say.”

Finally, when Steve’s about five minutes from throwing the little letter squares everywhere in frustration, Bucky dumps his tiles back in the bag.

“What are you doing?” Steve cries.

“Steve, neither of us are enjoying this. So let’s quit.” Bucky shrugs, like ending a game before it’s actually over is no big deal.

“But we’re not done.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Who cares?” He catches the mulish look on Steve’s face and smiles a little. “I’m backing down, not you. Your honor is still firmly intact.”

Steve flushes. How could Bucky tell Steve has qualms about giving up? He just doesn’t like doing it, is all. Everyone always expected him to give up, all his life, at school, on the peewee soccer team he begged his mom to sign him up for, in college after she died.

“Anyway, it’s not really fair,” Bucky continues. “I played Scrabble every day for eight months when I first got home, so I’m a Scrabble master.”

“Why on Earth did you play so much Scrabble?” Steve asks, finally relenting and cleaning up his tiles, too.

“It was part of my ‘recovery’,” Bucky says, air quotes audible. “Helped me get my language skills back up to par.”

“Your language skills suffered?” Steve asks, surprised. Bucky clenches his jaw a little and gets very interested in folding the board up.

“Part of the medical experiments they did on me was messing with my brain to see if they could get me to learn languages faster.” He forces a smile, still looking down. “Instead I just kinda couldn’t talk anymore.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He’s horrified by that happening to anyone, but looking at Bucky’s face, the shadows under his eyes, and thinking of everything that’s happened to him makes Steve feel sick to his stomach. Impulsively, he reaches out and puts a hand on Bucky’s arm.

“It’s really amazing how far you’ve come, Bucky,” he says sincerely. Bucky swallows, looking down at Steve’s hand. “I mean, obviously I don’t know what it was like when you first got back. But I can’t imagine living through any of that at all, let alone thriving like you have.”

“Thriving?” Bucky snorts. His face, when he finally looks up at Steve, is bitter. “I sleep like once every third night. I can’t be in crowds of people I don’t know. I have to take a fucking handful of pills to keep me from killing someone.” He pulls his arm away from Steve and rubs both hands down his face. “I was seriously getting pissed about that dumb game because all the words were running together and it felt like before, when I couldn’t understand anything anyone was saying and my ma was bawling all the time because they thought I was brain dead or something and I—” He breaks off, breathing hard.

Steve’s chest aches a little. He didn’t mean to dredge all this up. Bucky’s seemed happier lately, less withdrawn, but Steve can’t imagine that’s going to keep up after this conversation. He thinks of last week, when he admitted he missed his mom and Bucky chimed in so he wouldn’t feel like he was being ridiculous and overly emotional.

“Sometimes I can’t tell when people are talking to me,” Steve starts. “And I can’t figure out what they’re saying, with all the background noise and everything, and lip reading isn't real accurate. And people always acted like I was stupid because of it, and teachers would get all mad at me and say I was defiant and disobedient and didn’t listen. And every time it happens now, even when I’m with my friends and I know they won’t get mad at me, my stomach just gets so twisted up. Like, this is it. This is when my friends decide I’m too weird and too messed up and they can’t deal with me anymore.”

“They won’t,” Bucky interrupts.

“I know that, really,” Steve says. “But sometimes…” He shrugs.  
  
Bucky nods. “Sometimes knowing it doesn’t really matter, and your brain comes up with all the reasons they’ll leave anyway.”

They’re both quiet for a minute, but it isn’t awkward or strained. It’s kind of nice, actually, to have someone there who gets what Steve’s saying. His therapist understood, kind of, and told him it was his anxiety talking, but his friends don’t really get it—they do a good job of making sure he knows they’re there for him, and assuring him they want him around and like him, but they can’t understand why he’s sometimes absolutely convinced they’re going to kick him out.

“Well, anyway,” Bucky breaks the silence, sounding a little sheepish. Steve laughs a little too, feeling the same slight discomfort over all this sharing.

“I think there’s a baseball game on,” Steve offers. Bucky grins and shoves the board games to a corner of the room.

“Let’s watch.”

  
Steve has four more stairs to get up to make it to the apartment. He’s wheezing a little, because June is winding down and the temperature’s going up, and the slide into real summer weather is always hard on his asthma. He pauses to take a little break and catch his breath and jumps when he hears from behind him,  
  
“You waiting for me?”  
  
It’s Natasha. Steve wasn’t expecting her, but then again, he shouldn’t be surprised by her showing up unannounced. She loves catching people unawares, and Steve hasn’t seen her in a few weeks because she was out of town for work.  
  
“Natasha!” He manages to get out, opening his arms so she’ll come up and hug him. She does, but she’s frowning when she pulls away. He waves a hand at her before she can voice her concerns.  
  
“I’m fine,” he insists. “It’s just getting hot.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, not really accepting his declaration that he’s fine. “Have you started coughing yet?”  
  
“Nah, just wheezing,” he promises. “It’s probably more allergies than asthma at this point.”  
  
“Sure,” she humors him. “So do I get to see the new place or are we going to stay out here on the stairs?”  
  
“Yeah, come on in,” he says, mentally psyching himself up a little for those last four stairs. It’s only four stairs. It’s not a big deal. They make it, and because Natasha is a good friend she doesn’t comment on how heavily he leaned on the railing the whole way.  
  
“Bucky’s not here,” he tells her as he unlocks the door.  
  
“Where is he?” She asks.  
  
“I have no idea,” Steve admits. “He’s always gone all day.”  
  
“He doesn’t tell you where he goes?”  
  
Steve shrugs. “He doesn’t have to. I know he goes to the VA sometimes, and he helps out at his dad’s store, but that’s all I know.”  
  
Natasha sits down on the couch, looking around. “Nice digs,” she says. “The furniture looks brand new.”  
  
“It is,” Steve says, grateful she’d sat down immediately so he can follow suit without looking like he’s collapsing, even though it’s kind of how he feels. “One of the benefits of marrying into a furniture tycoon family.”  
  
“Tycoon?” Natasha echoes, laughing. “Why do you always speak like a ninety-five-year-old man?”  
  
Steve knocks his shoulder into hers. “That’s a normal word that people use!”  
  
“Sure, normal people who lived through the Great Depression.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes and gets up to fish his inhaler out of his backpack. He used to be kind of self-conscious about using his inhaler in front of people, but he’s known Natasha long enough that it doesn’t bother him anymore.  
  
“So what do you and Barnes get up to when he’s around?” Natasha asks. Steve shrugs.  
  
“Nothing, really. We mostly watch TV. Play some board games his aunt sent us.”  
  
“You’re really not doing much to get rid of the ninety-five-year-old man image,” Natasha points out.  
  
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Steve asks. “Go out drinking and partying? Neither of us drink, and partying really isn’t either of our kind of thing.”  
  
“So you sit inside like quiet old men and play old man board games,” Natasha teases. “How sweet. Who wins at chess? Do you eat dinner at four pm and go to bed by nine?”  
  
“Ha ha,” Steve deadpans. “How’s work?”  
  
Natasha gives him a look. “Why do you ask about my work when we both know you hate Stark Industries?”  
  
“Because you’re my friend and I care how work goes for you,” Steve says stubbornly.  
  
Natasha rolls her eyes, but Steve knows her well enough to see the fondness in the gesture. “It was fine. The trip involved far too many boring meetings and not enough down time to explore and eat local cuisine. The usual.”  
  
“Where were you?”  
  
Natasha tilts her head, smiling. “You know I can’t tell you because of my confidentiality clause.”  
  
“I just don’t see why you have to keep your work trips a secret,” Steve starts, keeping his tone light so it doesn’t sound like he’s ranting when he is, in fact, ranting. “What if there was a national emergency in whatever country you were in and I didn’t know it and you were stuck there for a long time?”  
  
“What would knowing where I was change in that situation?” Natasha asks, amused.  
  
Steve huffs. “Well, nothing, I guess, but I’d just like to _know_.”  
  
Natasha laughs a little. “I promise if I’m ever stuck somewhere because of a national emergency, I will text or email you my exact coordinates so you can swoop in and save me.”  
  
“Thank you,” Steve says imperiously, ignoring the fact that she’s absolutely making fun of him. “That’s nice to hear.”  
  
Natasha’s eyes land on the stack of board games and light up. “Battleship?” She asks.  
  
“You like Battleship?” Steve can’t picture Natasha playing games of any kind, except mind games.  
  
“Oh, come on,” she says, smirking. “A game centered around bombing someone else’s naval forces? Of course I like Battleship.”  
  
Steve laughs and gets up to retrieve the game. “Well, let’s see if you’re any good.”  
  
  


Natasha leaves about half an hour before Bucky gets back, and Steve can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved that they weren’t there at the same time. He’s sure Bucky still feels a little self-conscious about the egg incident at Steve’s old apartment while Natasha was there, but he also knows Natasha doesn’t hold it against Bucky.  
  
“We got another package,” Bucky tells Steve, kind of unnecessarily because Steve can see the box Bucky’s holding. “From my dad’s cousin. Didn’t know our address so he sent it to my parents’ house.”  
  
“What is it?” Steve asks, opening his email on his phone. There’s one from Peggy he got yesterday but hasn’t replied to yet and if he leaves her hanging two days or more she starts to get worried that he’s gotten killed in some back alley brawl.  
  
“I don’t know, I didn’t open it,” Bucky says, coming around to sit on the couch. “ _I_ have patience. Unlike _some_ people.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t even bother looking up from composing his email. He tells Peggy about Natasha stopping by. Peggy was a little concerned when he said he moved in with a new roommate— _but if you get in a fight with the wrong person, you need Natasha’s contacts and possibly Clint’s archery to save you_ —but when he told her the apartment was nicer and mold-free, she stopped worrying.  
  
He has yet, however, to tell her the full details of the arrangement. All he said was that Bucky’s a semi-recently returned vet who needs a little help socializing sometimes. Which is _true_ , he reminds the needling little voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Sam. He just conveniently has never mentioned that he and Bucky are, legally, technically, married.  
  
“Oh,” Bucky says, sounding kind of disappointed. Steve pulls his face away from his phone to look over at the package. “It’s a bunch of sappy movies.”  
  
Steve snorts. “You don’t have to pretend you’re annoyed by that. I know what your real favorite movie is.”  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes, but he also laughs a little, and Steve gets that little rush of pride he feels every time he makes Bucky laugh. It’s not like Steve’s self-esteem is so low he needs Bucky laughing at his jokes to make him feel good. He just likes making Bucky laugh. It feels nice to make him laugh after everything in his life was so terrible for so long.  
  
“There’s a card,” Steve notices, tugging it free from the movies. “Congratulations,” he reads. “Here are some of the greatest love stories from the silver screen as you start a new chapter in your own. Of course, you’ll always think your own love story is the best, but here’s what Hollywood has to offer.” Steve hums a little. “Eloquent.”  
  
“He writes Hallmark cards,” Bucky informs him.  
  
“That makes sense.”  
  
“Well,” Bucky says, fanning the movies out like a deck of cards. “What should we watch first?”  
  
Steve groans theatrically. “You’re going to make me watch these with you?”  
  
Bucky fixes him with a dirty look. “You got so into _Far and Away_.”  
  
“I did not,” Steve protests half-heartedly. “I was pretending so I didn’t hurt your feelings.”  
  
“Sure, okay, you can tell people that,” Bucky says, giving Steve a wide-eyed look like he’s doing him a big favor. Steve rolls his eyes. “Now, just from the picture on the box, I definitely vote for this one,” Bucky goes on, pulling out a movie called _Ice Castles_. The other movies in the bunch include _Pretty Woman, The Notebook, 27 Dresses, The Wedding Singer, You’ve Got Mail_ , and _The Sound of Music_.  
  
“What a random mix of movies,” Steve comments. “Julie Andrews in the same pile as Adam Sandler? I would never have expected that.”  
  
“My dad’s cousin is kind of eccentric,” Bucky reveals. “Come on, _Ice Castles_! It’s from the 70s and there’s ice skating. How could we go wrong?”  
  
“Fine,” Steve gives in with a sigh. “But I’m not watching _The Notebook_. I have strong feelings about that book and even stronger ones about the movie.”  
  
“I’m shocked,” Bucky deadpans. “You never have strong feelings about anything.”  
  
_Ice Castles_ is about as ridiculous as they were expecting, complete with 70s fashion and soft-lens camerawork, but—and they will take this information to the grave—they both have to hide a few tears during the movie.  
  
Bucky clears his throat when the end credits roll and Steve sniffs a few times to make sure he’s clear.  
  
“Okay,” Bucky says, voice only a little thick, and Steve kindly pretends not to notice. “What next?”  
  
“Have you seen all the rest of these?” Steve asks.  
  
“I’ve never seen _Pretty Woman_ ,” Bucky admits. “But I’m not sure I really want to.”  
  
“Uh, excuse me?” Steve says incredulously. “You’ll sit through _Ice Castles_ but you’re turning your nose up at _Pretty Woman_?”  
  
“What, is this your favorite movie or something?”  
  
“No, I’ve never seen it, either,” Steve says. “But come on!”  
  
“Okay, okay, jeez,” Bucky mutters. “We’ll watch _Pretty Woman_. Should we go get snacks?” He suggests. “What’s a movie marathon without snacks?”  
  
“I could go for snacks,” Steve agrees.  
  
It takes them a good ten minutes to find their shoes and keys and wallets, and Steve is highly suspicious that Bucky washed his face to remove all traces from tears, but they finally make their way down the street a few blocks to the bigger market that Bucky likes to shop at instead of the little bodega Steve goes to because the bodega makes Bucky feel a little claustrophobic.  
  
“You grab chips, I’ll get candy?” Bucky posits as they step inside.  
  
“Yeah, but no—”  
  
“Dairy or strawberries or walnuts,” Bucky recites. “I know. I got scrambled brains but I can remember enough not to kill you.”  
  
“Just making sure,” Steve says, a little defensively. “Sometimes candy has hidden ingredients. Maybe I should get the candy. I have more practice spotting the stuff I’m allergic to and you’re less likely to accidentally get something I can’t eat if you’re in the chips.”  
  
Bucky blows out a breath. “I can read a label,” he says, and Steve can hear the tension in his voice. Steve doesn’t get the big deal. So he doesn’t want to end up with an itchy rash for two weeks because Bucky doesn’t know his allergies—is that such a crime?  
  
“I know you can.”  
  
“Well, you’re acting like I’m incompetent.”  
  
Ah. _That’s_ the big deal. A big deal Steve knows well. People doubting your sanity and ability to do things on your own. He bites down the urge to tell Bucky to quit being dramatic; setting aside how insensitive and horrible that would be considering everything Bucky’s gone through, it would be incredibly hypocritical.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve says, making sure he sounds sincere. “You get candy, I’ll get chips.”  
  
Bucky sighs a little. “Okay,” he accepts the peace offering.  
  
It doesn’t take Steve long to get chips—he’s a sucker for barbeque flavor, and he’s pretty sure Bucky will eat almost anything, but he grabs some plain potato chips, too, just in case. He weaves around other shoppers and makes his way to the candy aisle. He spots Bucky easily, because there are only two or three people in the aisle, but he freezes when he realizes there’s a guy talking to Bucky. And that the guy is _Brock Rumlow_.  
  
Steve met Brock in college; they were both TA’s for an American government class and had gotten along pretty well. They’d never dated, per se, but there was a lot of flirting and a few make out and groping sessions before Brock revealed himself to be the biggest asshole Steve had ever met. And then he’d had to deal with him at the temp agency, because of course Brock worked in recruiting, and he was the one who finally told Steve they didn’t have any more jobs for him and _wouldn’t_ have any more jobs for him.  
  
Brock’s got that smirk on his face that means he’s hitting on Bucky, and Steve’s a little surprised by how angry he is. Brock is the _worst_. Bucky can’t go out with him. Steve knows for a fact Brock will point out every single thing Bucky does that isn’t “normal” enough.  
  
Bucky’s nodding along to what Brock is saying, but his eyes are still scanning the shelves and he’s leaning away from Brock a little. That makes Steve feel better. But then he feels worse again, because Brock is making Bucky uncomfortable. A little rush of protectiveness surges in Steve’s chest. Bucky looks over and sees Steve, and he grins.  
  
“There you are,” he says. “Thought you got lost in the chips.”  
  
Then Brock turns and sees Steve. “Steve Rogers,” he says, sounding surprised. Bucky raises an eyebrow.  
  
“You guys know each other?”  
  
“Oh, sure,” Brock says, his voice taking on that mocking tone that makes Steve’s hackles rise every time. “Little Steve and I are old friends.”  
  
A little crease settles in between Bucky’s eyebrows. “Old friends,” he repeats. Steve can feel his face burning.  
  
“We were TA’s for the same class in college,” he mutters.  
  
“And I work at the temp place where Rogers here got fired,” Brock adds. “It wasn’t personal, big guy.”  
  
Steve’s crushing the chips he’s holding because he’s clenching his fists. But he’s not going to get in a fight right here in the middle of the candy aisle, and especially not with Brock Rumlow. He vowed not to let Brock get to him anymore.  
  
“So how do _you_ know _him_?” Brock asks, looking Bucky up and down appreciatively and making sure his voice conveys all his disbelief that someone as hot as Bucky is hanging out with Steve. Steve’s stomach twists with humiliation. “Do you know all the things wrong with him? He could pretty much drop dead at any moment.”  
  
“I know his health issues,” Bucky says coldly. “Considering we’re married.”  
  
Brock looks completely dumbfounded. “Married?”  
  
“Almost two months now,” Bucky confirms. He beams over at Steve and adds dopily, “Happiest two months of my life.”  
  
Brock keeps looking between Steve and Bucky incredulously and Steve slips his arm around Bucky’s waist, shooting Brock a triumphant look. Then Brock’s face goes hard and Steve steels himself. This always happens when he doesn’t get what he wants.  
  
“Rogers suddenly get rich or something?” He sneers. “You’re a little out of his league.”  
  
“He sure is,” Bucky agrees, like Brock was talking to Steve instead of him. “I still can’t believe a ten like him’s settling for me.”  
  
“Oh, come on, Buck,” Steve chimes in. “You know you’re the pretty one.”  
  
Bucky snorts. “Says the guy whose eyelashes are longer than my dick.”  
  
That startles a surprised laugh out of Steve, and then he quickly adds, “Come on, honey, let’s not get into a discussion about your dick in public again.”  
  
“Alright, we’ll save it for when we get home,” Bucky agrees, tossing Steve a wink and steering them back down the aisle. “Nice to meet you, Brad.”  
  
“It’s Brock,” Steve whispers.  
  
“I know,” Bucky whispers back, and Steve doesn’t try to fight the grin that takes over his face as they walk to the check-out arm-in-arm.  
  
“Jeez, what a fucking jerk,” Bucky says as they walk home with their loot. “He’s like a movie villain. Please tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”  
  
“I didn’t sleep with him,” Steve promises. “Though I did come close.”  
  
Bucky makes a disgusted sound. “You’re way too good for him.”  
  
“He’s pretty awful,” Steve says, warmth spreading through his chest that Bucky's on his side. “Gets super petulant when he doesn’t get his way.”  
  
“Yeah, I could tell,” Bucky replies, shooting a look over his shoulder like he’s worried Brock’s following them down the street. “Thought he was gonna try to jump me right there in front of the Red Vines.”  
  
“I think he’s more of a Twizzlers man,” Steve says seriously. Bucky snorts and flicks the side of his head. Steve makes a wounded noise and kicks a rock at Bucky, which leads to Bucky trying repeatedly to trip Steve as they walk down the street. They keep it up the whole walk back to their apartment, elbowing and poking and snipping at each other, and their eighty-five-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, shakes her head when she sees them.  
  
“Boys never grow up,” she says as she herds her little dog, the one that always barks at Steve, back inside.  
  
“Have a good night, Mrs. Thompson,” Bucky says innocently. As soon as she closes the door, he hip checks Steve.  
  
“You’re such a con man,” Steve complains as he jabs his elbow into Bucky’s back.  
  
“It’s all part of the charm,” Bucky says with a dazzling smile, and Steve can’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ice Castles is the most ridiculous movie of all time. Also, I've never played Monopoly.


	9. Chapter 9

June starts bleeding away in a blaze of higher temperatures, and Steve has to start forgoing his afternoon walks and people-watching because he’s wheezing too badly. He hates this part of summer. He doesn’t mind summer generally, but just this first speed bump of rising temperatures always gives his asthma a hard time.

But he’s getting _bored_ being cooped up all day, and being bored also means he’s getting cranky. Steve hates feeling like an invalid.

“So you got any plans for the 4th of July?” Bucky asks one night over soy-cheese pizza. Steve had _told_ him he could eat regular pizza, but Bucky had stubbornly insisted he’d eat what Steve eats. He stopped wrinkling his nose after the third bite.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says sarcastically. “Gonna run a marathon in the morning.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows a little at Steve’s peevish tone and takes another bite of pizza. “Boy, that sure sounds fun. Good luck.”

Steve blows out a breath. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just…tired.”

“Heard you coughing last night,” Bucky comments mildly.

Steve rubs his temples. “It’s just getting hot. Hard on the lungs. Sorry if I woke you up.”

Bucky’s mouth twists a little. “I was awake anyway.”

“Aren’t we just paragons of good health,” Steve says, toasting Bucky with his water glass. Bucky snorts. “Why’re you asking about the Fourth?”

“Well, my parents have this cabin up in the Catskills. Figured we could go up with the Commandos and your crew.”

“My _crew_?” Steve echoes, amused. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Your friends.”

“Your parents want to go with all of us?” Steve asks.

“Nah, my parents wouldn’t be coming. Beth’s off at camp and Bailey’s got friends she wants to hang out with. Plus Becca’s kids want to stick around for the parades and all that.” Bucky shrugs. “Thought you might like it for your birthday.”

Steve makes a face. “You know about that?”

Bucky gives him a look. “Do I know when your birthday is? Uh, yeah. We had to write it on the marriage license and it seemed like important information to remember about the guy I’m _madly_ in love with. Why, don’t you know mine?” He adds jokingly.

“Yeah, yeah, March 10,” Steve confirms. He sees a little flash of a smile on Bucky’s face that disappears before he can really even know for sure it’s there. “But we don’t have to do anything for my birthday.”

“Steve, come on!” Bucky protests. “It’s your birthday. We don’t have to go to the cabin but we have to do _something_.”

Steve shrugs and chews slowly, mulling it over. A vacation would be nice for his friends. They work hard. He doesn’t, personally, but they all do. And his ma always said fresh air might help his lungs. At this point it can’t get much worse.

“It’s big enough for all of us?” He asks, only a little reluctant, and Bucky gives him a big grin in return.

  
Steve whistles when they pull up to the cabin. It’s _huge_. He’s constantly astounded by how rich Bucky’s family is.

“My grandpa built it himself,” Bucky tells him. “We do all the repairs and remodels and stuff ourselves.”

“Wow,” Steve says. “That’s really cool.”

Bucky shrugs. “I can honestly say I appreciate it now more than I did in high school, when we did the last remodel.”

Steve laughs as he gets out of the car, wincing a little and stretching. It wasn’t a long drive, but he feels a little stiff and achy. “I’ll bet.”

“Damn, Barnes!” Dugan calls from his own car. “Look at this place!”

“It’s not just ours,” Bucky says, looking a little self-conscious now that everyone’s making a big deal out of how big it is. “My grandpa built it and we all use it.”

“I’m glad it’s big enough for all of us,” Steve breaks in, earning himself a smile from Bucky. Steve turns to watch Sam, Riley, Natasha, and Clint pour out of Natasha’s little hybrid.

“My legs!” Sam cries dramatically. Natasha “accidentally” hits him with her bag. Everyone starts unloading into the cabin.

“Uh, we’re in here,” Bucky tells him, leading him to a bed with a king-sized bed. And…no other bed. “Sam and Riley have the other room with one bed and all the other rooms have two or three, and I couldn’t think of a way to get us in one of those. ‘Cause, you know…they’re all expecting…” He shrugs. “I can sleep on the floor.”

Steve drops his bag and rolls his eyes. “We can share a bed, Buck. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky looks uneasy. “I don’t know. I might just sleep on the floor.”

Steve huffs. “Didn’t realize the prospect of sharing a bed with me was that bad.” He doesn’t get why he’s so annoyed. Just like he said—it’s not that big of a deal. Bucky swallows. He looks cagey.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I…” He trails off, not meeting Steve’s eyes, and Steve thinks of Bucky’s sleeping problems.

“Oh,” he realizes. “You’re worried about nightmares or something?”

Bucky flinches a little. “Let’s go get all the food and stuff out of the car.”

Steve drops it. They managed to make it the entire two and a half hours in the car without an actual argument—they didn’t necessarily agree on music, but they got past it—and he doesn’t want to kick off the weekend with pushing Bucky to talk when he doesn’t want to.

They have four coolers of food, which seems a little excessive for two nights, even with eleven people. But, Bucky had pointed out, Dugan alone could probably pack away half of that. Steve starts to grab a cooler when Gabe appears at his side.

“I got it, Cap,” he says cheerily, tugging at the cooler. Before Steve can protest, he’s lugging it off, and then Morita, Bucky, and Clint take the other three. Scowling, Steve grabs one of the bags of hot dog buns and cereal. He’s not an idiot. He knows when he’s deliberately being coddled. And yes, maybe he’s not very strong and maybe he _is_ feeling a little weaker than usual because he hasn’t been sleeping well, but he’s not a child.

“Uh oh,” Sam remarks when he sees Steve’s face. “We got a storm a-brewing.”

“I’m fine,” Steve snaps. Sam gives him a look and Steve sighs. “I’m just kinda tired.”

Sam knows Steve well enough to try to keep his concern off his face, though it doesn’t completely work. “Rough night?”

Steve shrugs, pulling out the paper plates he’d insisted on instead of the Styrofoam Bucky originally tried to grab. They’d had a quick environmentalism lesson in the picnic aisle. “Rough two or three nights. It’s the hot air.”

“I’m not going to make the easy hot air joke you set up because I’m a nice person,” Sam cuts in quickly. “But just know it’s there.”

Steve can’t help but laugh at that. “Thank you for that. I’ve been coughing a little. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” Sam echoes. He’s giving Steve a searching look. Steve makes a face.

“Sam,” he says warningly. “I know what it feels like when it’s just regular asthma stuff and when it’s something to be concerned about and I promise I will say something if it’s something to be concerned about. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam relents. He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re a grown-up, man. I won’t baby you.”

“No, but you might nag me,” Steve says good-naturedly. “You’d think you’re sleeping with me instead of Riley.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Riley protests, coming in behind them. “All I caught was the tail-end of that conversation and I’m not sure I’m very happy with it.”

“Don’t think Sarge’d be very happy either,” Morita laughs. Riley manages to contain his laughter to one small snort and Steve gives him a dirty look.

“Forbidden love,” Sam sings, stroking a hand down Steve’s face. Steve bats his hand away. Clint, Gabe, and Natasha are signing rapidly, all cracking up laughing, and Steve smiles at the sight.

“Where’s Bucky?” He asks. “And Dugan and Dernier?”

“Oh, Jacques likes to think he’s a grill-master,” Falsworth says, rolling his eyes. “He’s an explosions expert. We’ve got to watch him carefully around fire.”

“Last time we let him work the grill he lost an eyebrow,” Morita confides.

“Clint’s done that a million times,” Natasha calls out.

“Whatever she just said I’ve done,” Clint starts, then pauses and shrugs. “…well, it’s probably true.”

Bucky, Dugan, and Dernier come in then, laughing and shoving at each other. “Well, we’ll have burgers soon,” Dugan announces. “Long as Dernier doesn’t just char ‘em all.”

“I like my burgers very rare,” Natasha tells him. “Almost still bleeding.” She gives one of her wolf smiles to accentuate the point and Falsworth actually looks a little bit terrified. Steve snorts.

“She’s just messing with you,” he assures Dugan.

“Yo, Barnes, there’s a _hot tub_?” Sam calls out. He and Riley had drifted off to explore and apparently found something noteworthy.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky says, like having an indoor hot tub is no big deal. “It’s nice at night.”

Riley shakes his head. “What I wouldn’t give to be rich.”

“Well, I mean, obviously you wouldn’t give that much,” Sam points out. “You didn’t have to be a teacher.”

Riley waves a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean.”

“The fuck is this?” Morita asks, nose wrinkled as he pulls a package of cashew cheese out of the fridge. “This is not cheese. It’s made outta cashews.”

“Oh, that’s for me,” Steve says. “I’m allergic to dairy. There’s regular cheese in there, too. Bottom shelf.”

“So what you’re saying is you like nut cheese?” Dugan hoots.

“I mean, we could have guessed,” Gabe points out, gesturing toward Bucky. Steve’s whole face burns. He can’t believe he set himself up for that one. He should have brought soy cheese.

“Stop it,” Bucky scolds. “You don’t get to tease a guy about his allergies.”

“Okay, but that was a good one,” Clint says. “How did I never think of that?”

“Yes, intensely clever.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “I so love being the only woman in a group of frat boys.”

“We’re not frat boys!” Dugan protests, mouth full of chips. “We don’t even have a keg or anything.”

“We’re very classy,” Falsworth agrees. “There’s _wine_ in here.”

“Wine to go with the nut cheese,” Riley mutters.

“Is anyone watching the burgers?” Sam asks. Dernier curses and runs out the back door.

They eat outside on big, solid picnic tables set up around a fire pit. Steve is next to Morita and watches with a mixture of horror and amusement as Morita drowns his burger in ketchup.

“Are you going to put anything else on that?” Clint asks, clearly feeling the same way Steve does.

“Nope,” Gabe tells them. “That’s all he ever puts on his burgers. Why don’t you just drink the ketchup straight from the bottle?”

“I like ketchup,” Morita says unnecessarily.

Bucky’s at the other table, between Dugan and Falsworth and across from Natasha, and Steve feels a little twinge of…he doesn’t know what. It’s weird not sitting next to Bucky. For weeks, they’ve been eating dinner together, elbows knocking together and shoulders brushing. It’s just a little strange to not feel the hard metal of Bucky’s arm against his own.

“Okay,” Dugan says after everyone’s pretty much finished eating. “Who wants to go out in the canoe with me?”

“Oh, not a _chance_ ,” Morita immediately speaks up. “I know your canoeing skills.”

“Can’t paddle to save his life,” Falsworth agrees. “Count me out.”

“I’ll go,” Steve says. “I like canoeing.”

“You like canoeing?” Riley asks skeptically. Sam snickers beside him. “When have you ever even _gone_ canoeing?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Steve shrugs. “I like the idea of canoeing.”

“Yeah, Cap!” Dugan cheers.

“You have to wear life jackets,” Bucky says. His voice falters only a little bit when everyone looks at him. “That’s the rule for the canoe. Life jackets at all times.”

“Do you even have a life jacket that will fit me?” Steve asks long-sufferingly, a fear built up over a lifetime of exclusion because of his size. Dugan claps a hand on his shoulder, laughing.

“You’re not that small,” he points out.

“We got a million sizes,” Bucky assures him.

“Don’t go out too far,” Natasha requests. “Don’t hog Steve all day.” Steve narrows his eyes at her, because he’s pretty sure that’s her diplomatic way of reminding him not to do anything too strenuous.

“They’ll never make it back,” Dernier jokes. “Dugan will get them lost.”

Dugan flips him off cheerfully. “Come on, Cap, let’s get paddling.”

They get their life jackets, and Steve is relieved that he doesn’t have to resort to the pink and purple sparkly one that is clearly meant for small children. It’s not so much the pink and purple he’s opposed to; it’s the _glamour girl_ written down the side that feels a little demeaning.

“Ah, this is nice,” Dugan says as they paddle. “Isn’t this nice?”

“Nice,” Steve agrees, glad they’re mostly floating more than paddling because his arms feel like rubber and he’s holding in a cough.

“I didn’t grow up in the city, you know. I’m from the boonies. It’s nice to get away from the city sometimes.”

“When did you move to the city?” Steve asks. He really doesn’t know anyone from a small town; Clint moved around a lot, and sometimes ended up in podunk places, but for the most part, Steve’s friend group is made up of city kids.

“I came for college two years before I joined the Army,” Dugan tells him. “My mom cried harder when I moved to New York than when I left for Iraq.”

Steve laughs a little, interrupted by a cough. “Was she worried you’d get mugged?”

Dugan booms out that boisterous laugh. “She thought I’d end up a drug addict in some alley. Or murdered. Or both. She watches a lot of Law and Order.”

“Hey, we’re not even number one in murders,” Steve points out.

“I tried telling her that, but for some reason she wasn’t too comforted,” Dugan laughs. They’re both quiet for a minute, listening to the lap of the water against the side of the canoe, and Dugan fixes Steve with a look.

“So,” he says. “You and Barnes still getting along? Still in the honeymoon phase?”

Steve blinks a few times. “Oh—yeah.” He does his best to make his smile look lovesick, but it’s not an expression he’s used a lot so he can’t be sure he got it right. “He’s great.”

“He’s relaxed a lot the last six months,” Dugan says thoughtfully. “That whole thing with the VA group therapy had me worried, but I think he’s finally moved past it.”

Steve’s stomach clenches. He doesn’t know what Dugan’s talking about, but it’s not like he can ask. He’s supposed to know all Bucky’s secrets.

“He’s doing great,” Steve says noncommittally.

“I mean, he’ll never _not_ feel guilty about what happened that first time,” Dugan goes on. “But Wilson obviously doesn’t hold it against him. No real damage done. I’m not saying he _shouldn’t_ feel guilty, you know, because it was a bad situation all around, but I don’t think he was responsible for what he was doing.”

Steve fights to keep his face neutral. This certainly does not sound good, and he thinks of Sam cryptically saying _he’s not in my group_. Something obviously happened between them, but Steve doesn’t know what, and he can’t imagine Bucky’s going to be very forthcoming about it. Sam probably won’t tell him either, because of confidentiality.

“Guess we should get back,” Dugan says, shading his eyes with a hand and looking back toward the cabin. “I’m a little afraid of the redhead, honestly.”

“Most people are,” Steve confides.

Paddling back in is a little harder than paddling out; the lake doesn’t exactly have a strong current, but there is a little wind and the water’s mostly heading in the opposite direction, so by the time they get back to the dock Steve’s sweating and breathing hard.

“You alright?” Dugan asks, looking a little concerned. Steve waves a hand.

“Fine,” he pants, arms heavy. Dugan deftly ties the canoe up and gives Steve another searching look.

“It’s warm out here,” he says kindly, like that’s why Steve’s struggling. Steve feels completely humiliated. They didn’t even _do_ anything. He’s so weak he can’t paddle a canoe for half an hour. He’s ridiculous.

“You look a little pale, Cap,” Gabe says, brow wrinkled, when they walk inside.

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, a little more snappish than he meant to be. He presses his lips together. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Just kinda tired. I think I should check my blood sugar.”

“Feeling low?” Sam asks, appearing at Steve’s elbow worriedly.

Steve rubs his forehead. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Just tired and weak.”

“I’ll get a granola bar while you go check,” Sam offers.

“Um, that fruit punch would be better,” Steve says. “If it’s really low.”

“You got it.”

Steve’s waiting for his results when the bedroom door swings open and Bucky pokes his head in, looking anxious. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Gabe said you were having some issue with your blood sugar.”

Steve shakes his head as his meter beeps. “Sugar’s fine,” he says with a shrug. “Just tired, I guess. Felt weak and sometimes that’s my blood sugar, but I’m also just kind of weak in general.”

Bucky’s sort of hovering in the doorway. “Do you need to lie down and rest? Should we go home? I’m totally fine with going home if you need to. Do you need a snack? Sam said he was getting—”

“Bucky,” Steve cuts him off harshly. “I’m fine. What I _don’t_ need is everyone treating me like a fucking baby instead of a grown man who’s been dealing with this since I was a kid.”

Bucky snaps his mouth shut and Steve feels guilty as hell again. He’s been doing so well about not getting defensive with Bucky lately. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Bucky beats him to the punch.

“Jesus, Steve, God forbid anyone worry about you, huh? You always gotta be so fucking stubborn about everything?”

“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Steve shoots back, anger bubbling right back up. “Considering you won’t even tell me half your issues.”

“That’s different,” Bucky hisses, muscle in his jaw ticking.

Steve scoffs. “Oh, it’s different? Whatever, Bucky. Just ‘cause I was born with most of my problems and yours came later doesn’t mean you can make me spill my guts and keep yours locked up.”

“Yours could kill you!” Bucky throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“So could yours,” Steve says quietly. Bucky sags a little. He rubs a hand over his eyes and his shoulders droop. He lets out a long breath.

“Sorry,” he says shortly. “You’re right. You know what you’re doing. If you say it’s nothing to be worried about, it’s nothing to be worried about.” He purses his lips. “I’ll leave you to it. We’re going to build a bonfire when the sun goes down. Come out if you want.”

He closes the door gently, and Steve sighs. So much for not arguing this weekend. He stashes his glucose meter back in his bag and sits on the edge of the bed for a second. There’s a knock on the door and he bites back the annoyance that flares up in him over yet another person checking up on him.

“Yeah?” He calls evenly.

“Can I come in?” It’s Natasha.

“Sure.”

She slips in the room and sits beside him on the bed, not even saying anything. “I’m not a child,” he says. “I know how to take care of myself.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Everyone acts like I’m some kind of invalid. I can get through a weekend without collapsing.”

“You can,” she agrees.

“I already promised Sam I’d let him know if it’s something really bad.”

“He told me.”

“So everyone doesn’t need to keep acting like I’m about to get blown away by the wind!” Steve finishes.

Natasha folds her arms and doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, I know sometimes I don’t always tell people when I’m sick. But we’re out in the middle of nowhere and I’m not so irresponsible that I’d put myself in actual danger out here.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t need to be monitored.” Steve kicks at the edge of his bag.

“I’m not monitoring you,” Natasha tells him.

“Not you. Bucky.” Steve shakes his head. “And I guess he’s just freaked out because he’s never actually seen me sick or anything. And he did walk in while I was testing my blood and that can look a little scary if you don’t know what it is. But he should just trust that I’m an adult and I know what I’m doing!”

“He should,” Natasha agrees.

“But I probably shouldn’t have yelled at him,” Steve admits quietly.

“Probably not.”

Steve sighs and then gives her a sidelong look. “You knew I’d talk myself down if you just sat here and didn’t say anything.”

Natasha laughs. “You’re the only person you listen to anyway. If you don’t talk yourself into it, no one else can.”

Steve flops back on the bed. “I always end up being an asshole to him.”

Natasha lies down beside him. “He’s a big boy. I think he can handle it.”

Steve stares at the oil painting of a lake that’s hanging on the wall. “I should go apologize. Plus he said they’re going to make a fire. I know how you feel about s’mores.”

“You’re sworn to secrecy about that,” she reminds him. “I only told you that because I was drunk.”

Steve laughs. “You don’t think anyone’s going to notice when you eat five?”

“They won’t see me eating them. Clint knows the drill.” She knocks her head gently against his. “You know, if you weren’t so worried about everyone worrying about you, you could relax and have some fun.”

Steve blows out a breath. “You of all people know how it feels to be underestimated.”

“I do,” she concurs. “But the best thing to do is use that against them.”

“I don’t know if I want to use anything against the people here,” he points out.

“Well, maybe it doesn’t apply in this situation,” she allows. “But generally.”

He sighs again. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Everyone’s gathered around the fire pit out back, where Sam and Dernier are arguing over the size of the fire. Riley’s watching their conversation with an amused and fond grin. Gabe, Clint, Dugan, Morita, and Falsworth are playing poker; Dugan has no poker face whatsoever, and he also shouldn’t look as excited as he does over the cards Steve can see he’s holding. Bucky’s sitting by himself on a log, chin resting in his hand. Steve holds back yet another sigh and sits next to him.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Bucky responds.

Steve’s not especially great at apologies, which is kind of ironic given how often he should apologize to people. But as he’s struggling with the words, Bucky bumps his shoulder into Steve’s.

“I brought one of those rice milk chocolate bars you like, so you can have s’mores too.”

“Oh,” Steve says, caught off-guard. “You did? Thanks.” He pauses for a second, then opens his mouth to apologize.

“Stop,” Bucky admonishes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m just…I’m used to people acting like I’m stupid or something, like I can’t figure out what I need,” Steve explains. “So I got mad.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Bucky teases. “I get it. You know your limits.”

“I do,” Steve agrees, relieved. “I know how to handle it.”

Bucky nods. “Okay,” he says with a shrug. “You got it.”

Steve smiles a little. It feels nice to have Bucky agree with him, especially about this, and he likes the idea that Bucky isn’t going to baby him anymore.

“So,” Bucky says, rubbing his hands together. “You gonna roast me a marshmallow?”

“What?” Steve snorts. “Make your own.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky protests. “I have a _metal_ hand. I can’t get close to the fire.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s why you use a roasting stick, genius.”

“A _metal_ roasting stick?” Bucky asks skeptically. “This really just sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“Fine, you big baby,” Steve relents. “I will make you _one_ marshmallow. And only because you brought chocolate for me.”

“I love karma,” Bucky says. Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky winks at him. Steve refuses to smile as big as he wants to at that wink.

  
Steve wakes up because the bed is…shaking? It definitely feels like it’s moving. He blinks and looks around, wondering if they’re having an earthquake or something. He hopes it’s not an earthquake. Wouldn’t that be extra dangerous so close to a body of water? He doesn’t know if lakes can have tsunamis.

It’s not an earthquake. It’s Bucky; he’s thrashing.

Steve stares at him for a minute, dumbfounded, then realizes he must be having a nightmare. Suddenly feeling wide awake, Steve sits up slowly, not wanting to accidentally brush against Bucky. It had taken some coaxing to convince Bucky that sharing a bed wouldn’t be a big deal, and now Steve’s a little worried he was wrong.

“Bucky?” He says tentatively.

The sound of Bucky’s harsh breathing is filling up the room. His eyes are closed, but he looks terrified, and Steve’s heart aches a little at the sight. He can’t imagine what’s happening in Bucky’s head right now.

“Buck?” He tries again. He reaches a cautious hand out and lays it on Bucky’s shoulder.

That was a supreme mistake.

The only reason Steve gets away from Bucky without Bucky snapping his wrist is because Bucky gets tangled in the sheets. Steve scrambles away, falling off the bed and landing on his ass. The impact knocks the wind out of him a little, and he coughs a few times while he tries to get it back.

“Bucky!” He hisses. “It’s okay! Stop!”

Bucky’s eyes snap open and he looks around the room wildly for a few seconds, gasping for breath. He blinks a few times, confused, and then his eyes focus on Steve, on the ground, and he looks stricken.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks. He presses a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have fallen asleep but I didn’t really sleep last night and I just couldn’t stay awake, shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I’ll go—”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” Steve cuts him off gently. “You didn’t even touch me.”

Bucky takes a long, shuddering breath. “Then why are you on the ground?”

“I, uh. Well, I fell off the bed.”

“I pushed you off the bed?” Bucky asks, distressed.

“No!” Steve assures him, standing up and reeling a little from a head rush. “Bucky, you didn’t push me. Honest. I just fell.”

“I’m gonna go out to the couch,” Bucky says, pushing the blankets off him.

“No, Bucky, come on,” Steve protests. “It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay.” Bucky’s voice is shaking like he’s on the verge of tears. “I could’ve…God, Steve, I could’ve hurt you so badly.”

“But you didn’t,” Steve points out.

“That doesn’t mean I can just get lazy and stop being careful.”

“Bucky, please don’t go.” Steve wants to put a hand on his arm but doesn’t dare. “You had a nightmare. You shouldn’t be banished out to the couch for that.”

“This is why I didn’t want to share a bed,” Bucky tells him softly. “I knew I’d do something like this.”

“You didn’t do anything!” Steve argues, sitting back down on the bed. “This is not your fault.”

Bucky’s quiet for a minute, head in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “You don’t have to tell me anything.” He waits, but Bucky doesn’t say anything else, so Steve gets back in bed, keeping a good amount of space between them. Bucky’s still sitting upright, feet on the ground, like he’s still not convinced he shouldn’t go out to the living room to the couch, so Steve reaches out hesitantly and puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He flinches a little, but he doesn’t move away.

“It’s alright,” Steve tells him yet again. “Lie back down.”

Bucky slides back under the covers obediently, keeping his back to Steve. “I won’t fall asleep this time,” he promises.

“You should,” Steve says. “Going without sleep isn’t healthy.”

Bucky rolls over so he can glare at Steve. “I’m sorry, who had a big freak out earlier about being babied?”

Steve holds up a hand in surrender. “Butting out.”

“Thank you,” Bucky huffs. He rolls back over, away from Steve, and tosses out a muffled, “Good night.”

“Night,” Steve echoes. He doesn’t fall asleep for a long time, and he knows Bucky doesn’t, either, but neither of them say anything.

When Steve next wakes up, sunlight is streaming through the window and he’s wormed both his feet between Bucky’s calves. They’re warm, which is nice—he doesn’t have great circulation, what with the bad heart and lungs, so his hands and feet are always cold. Still, it’s not terribly polite to stick your ice-toes between another guy’s legs.

He still feels incredibly tired, and he wants to just close his eyes and go back to sleep, but he starts to slowly extricate himself from Bucky and Bucky’s breath hitches. Steve freezes. Bucky snuffles a little as he starts to wake up, but at least he doesn’t startle.

“Steve?” He asks, voice raspy.

“Yep,” Steve confirms.

“Your feet are fucking freezing.” Bucky rubs his legs together to generate some heat.

“Stop,” Steve scolds. “You don’t have to humor me.”

“Shit, man, I’m doing triage here. I’m worried they’re gonna fall off if I don’t help you out,” Bucky teases, finally rolling over to face Steve and immediately clamping his calves back down on Steve’s feet.

“Your hair looks like a bird’s nest,” Steve informs him, feeling kind of awkward about the fact that his feet are between Bucky’s legs.

“Yeah, well, your breath ain’t exactly the best,” Bucky shoots back. “Mornings are rough on us all.” Steve snaps his mouth closed, miffed, and Bucky rumbles out a quiet little laugh.

“What’s our agenda today?” Steve asks. He needs to get going on his meds—he can tell it’s later than he usually wakes up, which means he’s gone longer than usual between doses—but he’s comfortable and doesn’t want to move quite yet. He just feels run-down. The wake-up call in the middle of the night must have taken more out of him than he realized.

Bucky shrugs. “Swimming in the lake. Eating. You’ll probably want to draw, huh?”

Steve’s a little surprised. He _does_ want to draw the lake; the view is incredible, and he thinks he showed great restraint by not spending the whole evening last night drawing. But he didn’t realize Bucky had noticed.

“You’ve taken your sketchbook out like three times and then put it back,” Bucky points out. “Figured that might mean something.”

Steve hums. “I’m not very good company when I’m drawing. I get a little lost in my head, forget to talk to people.”

Bucky shrugs again. “’S your birthday. You can do whatever you want. Anyone’s got a problem, they can take it up with me.”

Steve snorts. “My hero,” he deadpans. Bucky nudges his knee into Steve’s thigh, awkwardly because Steve’s feet are still between Bucky’s calves.

“Don’t sass a guy who’s keeping your feet warm,” he chides. “And happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs.

“I was gonna get up before you and make you breakfast,” Bucky confesses. “Breakfast in bed is a Barnes family birthday tradition.”

Steve pulls his feet away and rolls onto his back, bending one arm under his head. “My ma used to come in my room at midnight on my birthday and we’d jump on the bed together,” he reminisces. “Every year, even when I was in high school. And my freshman year of college I was in the dorms and she called me at midnight. She jumped on her bed and I jumped on mine.” His roommate had already thought he was nuts by then, so a little more ridiculousness didn’t hurt.

Bucky laughs. “That’s awesome.” He squints over at Steve. “You want to get up and jump now? I’ll jump with you. Or is that just a thing for you and your ma?”

Steve considers it for a minute. It’s been years and years since he’s done it—his mother had gotten too sick for his last two birthdays before she died, and he certainly hasn’t done it since. But it doesn’t really seem right. It wouldn’t be the same.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll just think about her.”

Bucky nods. “Stay here while I get you breakfast, alright?”

“I’m gonna have to get out of bed to take my meds, and I gotta take my meds before I can eat,” Steve points out.

“Well, take ‘em and get back _in_ bed,” Bucky insists. “It’s your birthday!”

“Fine,” Steve grumbles, reaching for his glasses while Bucky rolls out of bed and slips out the door. Steve can hear the rumble of his voice and some answering voices, and he feels bad about staying in the room when people are getting up and moving around.

After he gets his morning meds out of the way, he’s still sitting there waiting for Bucky, so he grabs his sketchbook and pencils and obediently gets back into bed. He means to draw the lake. He does. But his hand isn’t really listening to his ideas and instead he finds himself blocking out the lines of Bucky’s face creased from the pillow, hair falling over his eyes, stubble shading his chin.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky finally bustles back in the room, carrying a tray with a plate of pancakes, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of almond milk. Steve hurriedly closes his sketchbook. Sam pokes his head in behind Bucky.

“Happy birthday,” he says with a grin.

“Thanks,” Steve says. “Apparently I’m not allowed to eat with the rest of you.”

“Can’t eat with us peasants on your birthday!” Riley cuts in, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulder.

“Well, if I was a better planner, I would’ve gotten up early enough that you’d be done with breakfast and could come out when everyone else did,” Bucky says, chagrined. “But here we are.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve shrugs.

“Wilson!” Clint calls from the kitchen. “Get your ass out here or I’m not saving you any bacon!”

“Do not eat my bacon!” Sam scolds as he and Riley disappear.

“You eat?” Steve asks as Bucky sets the tray in front of him.

“I will,” Bucky says. Steve gives him a look.

“What are you gonna do, just watch me eat?”

“Someone’s vain,” Bucky teases. “I got stuff to do while you eat.”

“Like what?” Steve squawks.  
  
“Gabe and I are gonna go for a run.”

“A run?” Steve echoes. “Since when do you run?”

Bucky scoffs. “I run and lift weights every morning, Steve.”

“You do?”

“You think this physique happens by magic?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at himself. Steve rolls his eyes. “I have to stay in shape to support the arm.”

“So I have to sit in here all alone on my birthday?” Steve fake pouts.

Bucky sighs, exasperated. “Fine, fine,” he says, taking away the tray. “Come on.”

Steve’s greeted by a chorus of “Happy birthday!” as he follows his breakfast into the kitchen. Gabe and Bucky slip away soon after, and Morita refuses to let Steve help do any dishes after he finishes eating.

They’re all talking about gathering their things to head down to the lake when Gabe and Bucky come back, sweating and red-faced and breathing hard, and Steve gulps a little at the sight of Bucky. His hair’s pulled back, but a few strands have fallen loose and are curling with sweat. His shorts show off his tan, muscular legs, and he stretches a little and his shirt rides up to reveal a ripple of abs. It’s not entirely _fair_ that he has such a hot body.

“Hurry up,” Dugan orders. “We want to go swimming.”

“I’ll just change,” Gabe says with a shrug. “No point showering if I’m just gonna jump in a lake.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I have to take a shower.”

“But then you’re gonna have to shower again when we’re done swimming,” Gabe points out. “Why shower twice?”

“Because I _can_. And I’m all gross,” Bucky protests. “I’m taking a shower. Five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” Morita echoes skeptically. “Yeah, right. Then you’ll spend twenty on your hair.”

“He really does shower fast,” Steve pipes up. “Shockingly fast.”

Dugan smirks. “Got some firsthand knowledge, do you?”

“Cut it out,” Bucky admonishes mildly. “None of you guys are even changed anyway. I’ll be ready same time you will.”

Now Steve snorts. “Well, you don’t shower _that_ fast, since I won that bet.”

“You cheated!” Bucky sings out as he runs to the bathroom.

Steve’s changed into his swim trunks and is stuffing his inhaler, his sketchbook, pencils, a towel, his Epi-pen, and some snacks into a bag when Bucky comes in, hair wet and tied into a bun, a towel around his waist and another around his shoulders. There’s just a little triangle of skin visible, his abs and the bottom of his chest, and Steve shakes his head a little. So unfair.

“Ha!” Bucky calls out, rifling through his bag. “Told you I’d be ready when you were.”

“I’m ready now,” Steve challenges. “And unless you’re going skinny dipping…”

“You’re not ready,” Bucky shoots back. “You’re still putting stuff in your bag.” He opens the closet and goes inside, closing the doors behind him. Steve waits a second, but Bucky doesn’t say anything or reemerge.

“Uh, Bucky?”

“I’m putting clothes on!” Bucky calls back.

“In the closet?”

“Well, gee, Steve, if you wanted to see me naked you could’ve just asked.”

Steve blushes even though he totally walked into that. “You just never struck me as the modest type.”

“Please,” Bucky huffs, coming back out with his shorts and a t-shirt on. “You’d probably have a heart attack if I just stripped down like it was nothing.”

Steve would protest, but it’s not entirely untrue, so he just throws a pencil at Bucky, who, of course, catches it deftly.

“You could put someone’s eye out,” he scolds. “And I really can’t afford to lose any more body parts.”

When they get down to the lake, Steve realizes he’s probably going to have to take off his shirt or stand out a little. He doesn’t usually spend a lot of time feeling self-conscious about how his body looks—it is what it is, and no amount of fretting over it’s going to change anything—but he feels a little twinge now.

Gabe, Clint, Sam, and Riley are already shirtless, showing off muscles and chest hair Steve would need some kind of scientific miracle to achieve, and Bucky’s still got his shirt on but none of his clothes exactly hide how built he is.

And then there’s Steve, so pale he’s practically transparent, every bird bone visible beneath his skin, the few sparse hairs on his chest so blond they’re mostly invisible. He suddenly feels like the kid brother they brought along to keep from whining about getting left behind.

“Who hasn’t put sunscreen on?” Natasha demands, vigilant as ever in her skin protection. “Steve, did you get your back?”

“I don’t think I’m going in the water,” Steve mumbles. “Might just leave my shirt on.”

Bucky’s all spread out on a towel beside him, right arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “You still have to put sunscreen on,” he points out, voice already slowing from the warmth and laziness.

“Not on my back,” Steve argues. “I already got my arms and legs.”

Bucky hums. “Don’t want that Irish skin burning up like paper,” he jokes.

Steve spends the first ten or fifteen minutes bracing himself to be teased about leaving his shirt on, but it never comes. And Bucky doesn’t take his off, either, and no one says anything about that, so eventually Steve relaxes and opens his sketchbook to a new page.

They spend a few hours like that, playing around and lazing on the beach and splashing each other. Bucky occasionally gets up to stand in the water, but he never takes his shirt off. Steve’s favorite sketch he gets is Natasha on Clint’s shoulders, racing Riley on Sam’s shoulders and Gabe on Dugan’s. Dernier, Falsworth, and Morita spend a good hour skipping rocks, taunting each other and occasionally pushing each other into the water.

They eat sandwiches on the shore, flicking pieces of fruit at each other and laughing. Sam passes Steve the sunscreen again.

“Your face is getting a little toasty,” he says. “Unless you’ve been blushing for ten minutes straight.”

“Ah, man,” Steve groans. “I’m gonna get so freckly.”

“Your freckles are my favorite part of summer,” Natasha says. “They’re adorable.”

“Natasha, I’m a grown man,” Steve points out, sounding a touch childish as he does so. “Being adorable isn’t always a good thing.”

“Well, _I’m_ a grown man and I’m adorable,” Clint says. “It works fine for me.”

“The _most_ adorable,” Dugan gushes in a high-pitched voice. “Such big, strong arms.”

Steve falls asleep in the sun after lunch, feeling sluggish from the sun, and he wakes up to find he’s been covered up with a hat and a towel so no skin is exposed. His feet have also been buried in the sand up to his calves and he’s been given a mermaid tail.

They finally go back up to the house in the late afternoon so everyone can shower and get dressed in real clothes before they start dinner. Steve leans against the wall of the shower, still groggy from his nap, and the steam brings up all kinds of phlegm in his chest so he spends half his shower bracing himself against the wall as he coughs and hacks.  
  
He’s starting to get that achy feeling in his back and sides from coughing a lot, but he decides he can still breathe well enough that he doesn’t need his rescue inhaler. He feels a little feverish, and he glances in the mirror to confirm that his face got a little sunburnt. He rolls his eyes at himself. Typical.

Sam, Riley, Natasha, and Clint tell embarrassing stories about Steve over dinner, and there’s a cake for him and candles. The Howling Commandos do a surprisingly good harmony to “Happy Birthday” and everyone cheers when he blows out the candles. It makes him cough a little, actually, and he catches Sam and Natasha exchanging a wary glance, but no one says anything.

“You share the same birthday as America,” Gabe points out.

“Captain America!” Dugan crows.

Steve snorts. “That sounds like a comic book character.”

“A particularly silly one,” Falsworth agrees, and then Morita gives him a noogie in protest.

“I bet he wears tights,” Bucky teases, throwing an arm around Steve’s neck and shaking him a little. “Or little booty shorts.”

“He probably has a little sidekick with a name like Bucky and _he’s_ the one wearing booty shorts,” Steve shoots back.

Riley keeps glancing out the windows to gauge the falling sun. He’s getting increasingly fidgety as the sun drops, and Steve knows he’s worried about the fireworks. Sam and Riley both have a hard time with fireworks every year. Clint just takes out his hearing aids. Steve has no idea how Bucky and the rest of the guys will react.

Bucky must catch on to Riley’s discomfort, because he says, “There shouldn’t be any fireworks.”

“None?” Riley asks.

“There might be some,” Bucky admits. “But they don’t do any kind of show and they’re illegal, so…”

“Oh, last year was so bad,” Dugan says. “Thought I was gonna shit my pants.”

“Even I did not enjoy last year,” Dernier reveals.

“This was a good idea,” Gabe says, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “The city’s gonna be full of them.”

“I’ve been home five years and I still can’t handle fireworks very well,” Sam admits.

“Might have to do with watching a bomb blow me outta the sky,” Riley points out. Sam shudders a little.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t actually been around for any fireworks and I don’t want to see how it’d go,” Bucky says.

“We were back last year,” Dugan says. “And what about New Year?”

“Last year I was still in the hospital,” Bucky reminds him. “I was sedated the whole night. And my family went to Indiana for New Year and I hid out on my aunt’s farm.”

“I don’t have to hear them,” Clint says. He reaches up and turns off his hearing aids and then spreads arms out. “80% of my hearing gone, pow.”

“But they’re so loud,” Morita says. Clint looks at him and shrugs and before Steve can interpret, Bucky signs _loud_. Clint turns his hearing aids back on.

“Since when can you sign?” Steve asks.

Bucky flushes. “I can’t, really.” He signs _learn_. “I just—I know the whole alphabet, and some other signs.” He spells out B-U-C-K-Y and then shrugs.

“Is that new?” Sam asks. Bucky’s blush deepens.

“Yeah, he asked me like three weeks ago,” Gabe confirms, calling out from the living room where he’s gotten tangled up in a wrestling match with Morita and Falsworth.

“Just thought I should learn,” Bucky mumbles. “Not that big of a deal.”

Sam shoots Steve a surprised little look, and Natasha’s smirking. Steve can feel his face heating up a little. He feels like he has butterflies in his stomach. He doesn’t want to flatter himself and think Bucky wanted to learn just for him, but it’s a little hard not to, especially with Bucky blushing and not meeting his eyes.

They turn on a movie after the dinner dishes are done—and again, Steve isn’t allowed to help—and every so often someone will throw a nervous look toward the window. There are only a few fireworks that go off, and everyone makes it through the evening just fine.

As they’re drifting off to sleep, Bucky slurs out, “My ma wants to have a birthday dinner for you tomorrow night when we get back.”

“Oh,” Steve says, not sure he’ll remember in the morning because his eyes are heavy and his brain feels a little fuzzy. “That’s nice.”

He wakes up the next morning with his feet between Bucky’s calves again, and it’s not even weird.

  
“We can bail on dinner with my parents,” Bucky offers. They just got home and unloaded the car, and Steve’s dragging. He slept the whole drive back, and he’s been coughing again.

“No,” Steve protests. “It’s fine. I just need…” He breaks off, coughing.

“Inhaler?” Bucky guesses, grabbing Steve’s backpack and bringing it over to him on the couch. Steve tells himself to stay calm as he reaches for the zipper. His lungs are really struggling. It doesn’t actually feel like an asthma attack, but he still can’t get a full breath. But he knows if he freaks out, it’ll get worse.

But he’s coughing hard, his whole body wracked with them, and he feels so tired and weak. The zipper doesn’t seem to want to budge. Bucky’s hovering, face etched with worry, and he finally knocks Steve’s hands away and unzips the bag himself.

First he grabs Steve’s daily inhaler and Steve shakes his head. “Gray is medicine,” Steve gasps out. “Blue is rescue.”

Bucky blinks, confused, and then throws himself back into rifling through Steve’s bag. He finds the rescue inhaler and hands it to Steve. Steve feels sweat breaking out on his forehead as he fights for air, and Bucky’s hands are shaking as he watches.

Steve takes a puff, but getting a deep breath hurts a little. His coughs subside a little, and he calms down as he starts getting more air. His lungs still don’t feel normal—or normal for him, anyway—but he’s doing a little better.

He groans. “God, my head.”

“I’ll call my ma,” Bucky says. “You should just rest.”

Steve shakes his head, which is a bad idea, because it hurts. “I’m okay,” he pants. He straightens up so he’s not hunched over anymore and starts to push himself to his feet. His head swims and Bucky grabs him.

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky murmurs. “Just relax.”

“I’m okay,” Steve repeats stubbornly. He’s had a million asthma attacks. He can handle this. This doesn’t even feel like an asthma attack, anyway, but he’s so _tired_ , and his head is swimming. Black spots start encroaching on his vision, and he swears. He’s going to pass out.

“Steve?” Bucky cries, panicked, and Steve has a second to feel guilty and embarrassed for freaking him out before everything fades away to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so mean for ending it there because it might be a little while before my next update...I'm going out of town on Wednesday and won't be back until Sunday night. Oops!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, I got this chapter up before I left for vacation! Am I the best or am I the best? It's also quite long.

Steve feels like he has to swim up to consciousness. He can hear voices around him, but he doesn’t feel like opening his eyes and seeing who they are. The beeping he can hear and the cannula he can feel in his nose tell him he’s in the hospital, which is annoying but not exactly unfamiliar.

“—my husband,” he hears Bucky say, and then he suddenly remembers that he passed out in Bucky’s arms. He groans a little. He basically _swooned_. How embarrassing.

“Steve?” Bucky says, and he grabs Steve’s hand in both of his, one gloved and one skin. Steve forces his eyes open. It takes an amazing amount of effort. He wants to sleep for seventy years. He knows better than to try talking when he can feel a tube in his throat, but he wants to know what’s going on.

“You’re in the hospital,” Bucky tells him. Steve nods. “You passed out.” Steve nods again. He wants to tell Bucky to hurry up and tell him something he doesn’t already know. Bucky must hear that thought, because next he says, “You have pneumonia.”

Steve groans again. Pneumonia. He’s had pneumonia a million times. How did he not realize it? He should have seen the warning signs. In his defense, it’s been two years. Bucky looks worried.

“What is it?” He asks. “Does something hurt? Are you cold? Do you need another pillow? Are you breathing alright?”

Steve just shakes his head. His eyes are already starting to slip closed again. He wants to stay awake, because Bucky looks severely freaked out, but he can tell it isn’t going to happen. He squeezes Bucky’s hand in what he hopes is a reassuring way and starts to drift off again.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers, squeezing his hand back. “You just rest, Stevie.”

  
Steve doesn’t know how long he sleeps before he wakes up again. He feels more alert this time. Bucky’s sitting in a chair beside his bed, hunched over with his head down, and Steve’s suddenly struck by the realization that hospitals are not a good place for Bucky. How long has Bucky been sitting here, all alone, scared and probably having flashbacks? Steve feels a little sick to his stomach. He taps a hand against the sheets and Bucky looks up quickly.

“Hey,” he breathes. “You’re awake.”

_You can go_ , Steve finger-spells slowly. He watches Bucky follow the letters, and then his eyebrows shoot up.

“You want me to leave?” He asks, and Steve’s sure he hears a little hurt in Bucky’s voice. He shakes his head.

_You hate hospitals_ , he points out. _You don’t have to stay here._

“Whoa, slow down,” Bucky requests. “I hate hospitals…and what?”

Steve lets out a frustrated breath. Bucky doesn’t know enough actual sign language to make this conversation easier, but finger-spelling it all isn’t going to cut it. He has a sudden idea and puts his hand to his ear, thumb and pinky outstretched. Bucky looks confused, but pulls out his phone and hands it over. Steve opens the notepad.

_You don’t have to stay here. I know you hate hospitals._

“I didn’t want you to wake up alone,” Bucky says after he reads it.

_I’ve done it a million times_ , Steve assures him. Bucky purses his lips.

“No one should have to be all alone in the hospital,” he protests quietly, not meeting Steve’s eyes, and Steve’s suddenly struck by the mental image of Bucky, terrified after being held prisoner and experimented on, waking up alone in some military hospital without any idea where he was or if he was safe. It’s almost enough to make tears fill his eyes. He’s always extra emotional when he’s sick, especially when he’s in the hospital.

_I don’t want to make things bad for you._

“Hey,” Bucky says, a little sharply. “You know your limits, remember? And I know mine. So lay off.”

Steve manages a wry smile and pulls the phone back. _Obviously I don’t know my limits as well as I thought._

Bucky huffs a little laugh. “Oh, trust me, I thought about that. But I wouldn’t let the nurse kick me out and I’m not letting you do it, either.” He looks a little unsure. “Unless you really want me to go?”

Steve shakes his head, maybe a little too quickly. He _doesn’t_ want Bucky to leave. He hates being in the hospital, and being alone in the hospital is the absolute worst. It just reminds him his mom is gone, as if he needed a reminder. He feels incredibly selfish and needy, but he can’t help it.

“Okay,” Bucky says with a little smile. “Then you let me worry about me.”

_When are they going to take this tube out of my throat?_

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs. “The doctor said he’ll wait to come in until you can stay awake for longer than five minutes.” Steve taps his wrist and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, push the button and page the nurse, I guess.”

Sharon comes in right away, and Steve would groan again if he wasn’t doing his best not to scare Bucky. Sharon is Peggy’s cousin, and there’s no way she’s not going to tell Peggy Steve’s sick again.

“Well, look who’s awake,” she greets him, checking out the monitors by his bed. “You know the drill—scale of one to five, how’s your breathing?”

He holds up three fingers. He’s never been at a five in his life. She nods sympathetically. “I know you hate the tube,” she says. “Your oxygen looks good. We’ll get it out right away.”

Bucky all but turns away when another nurse comes in to help pull the tube out. Steve’s used to it, so he’s not really bothered beyond the usual gagging and grossness of it all, but Bucky is pale and wide-eyed. Sharon helps Steve sit up and holds a cup of water to his lips so he can sip gratefully.

“Thanks,” he rasps, throat raw from the tube. A little shudder twitches through Bucky’s shoulders at the sound of Steve’s voice. “Bucky, call Sam or someone so you can go home.”

“Visiting hours are over,” Sharon tells him. “He only gets to stay because he’s your _husband_.” She tilts her head, her eyes going hard. “I didn’t know congratulations were in order. Peggy never said anything.”

Steve’s stomach drops. He never told Peggy. And now Sharon’s going to do it. Everything’s going to look so much worse. Peggy’s going to be so mad at him for keeping a secret like that. Not to mention…well. Any unspoken but understood feelings between them are going to evaporate.

“Sam and Natasha were here earlier,” Bucky assures him, glancing back and forth between Sharon and Steve. “Clint’s going to come first thing in the morning.”

“When can I get discharged?” Steve asks Sharon. She gives him a look.

“You’re looking at three days minimum, Rogers. Come on, you know the drill.”

“Three days,” he grumbles. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Oh, yeah, so embarrassing that you were basically drowning in fluid,” Sharon snorts.

“Embarrassing that I didn’t even realize I was getting sick,” Steve protests. “I’ve had pneumonia way too many times not to realize.”

“Did I give it to him?” Bucky asks anxiously. “I’ve never had pneumonia. Could I have had a really light case and not known it and given it to him?”

“You didn’t give it to me,” Steve promises him. “You didn’t even have a cold or anything. I probably picked it up from someone on the train or something. I’m contagious though; I might give it to you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky says carelessly. Steve slumps back against the pillows, tired again. He hates pneumonia so much.

“You need to rest,” Sharon reminds him. “The doctor will come check you out tomorrow. I’m off in two hours but Amanda’s on night shift tonight, so don’t try to pull that thing where you don’t want to page the nurse in case someone else needs more help.”

Bucky gives him a look. “Of course you do that,” he mutters. “I’m staying all night, so I won’t let him.”

Sharon stares at Bucky for a minute, then nods. “Sounds good.”

Steve sighs as she leaves the room. This is going to be complicated. Bucky’s phone, still sitting on the bed beside Steve’s knee, buzzes. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Are you up for Skyping with Jamie?”

“What?” Steve asks, confused. “Your nephew Jamie?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “He was all excited to see you for dinner and when Becca told him you’re sick he got really upset. I guess he’s been freaking out all afternoon.”

“I didn’t even know he remembered who I am,” Steve admits.

“Becks said he hasn’t stopped talking about you since Bailey’s graduation,” Bucky laughs.

“Yeah, I can Skype with him,” Steve says with a shrug. “I feel bad if I scared him. Oh, your mom made dinner,” he remembers, feeling guilty. Bucky scowls at him.

“Do not feel guilty. This isn’t your fault. Anyway, she’s probably making like ten gallons of chicken noodle soup she’s going to force-feed you for the next month, so we’ll see how grateful you are for her cooking then.” He taps away at his phone, and soon Steve hears the familiar _ping_ of Skype. “Hey, buddy,” Bucky says brightly. “You want to see Steve?”

“Steve!” Jamie’s high-pitched little voice calls out. “Steve sick.”

Bucky holds the phone up so Steve’s on camera. “Hi, Jamie,” Steve says, a little awkwardly. He doesn’t know how to talk to little kids.

“Tummy?” Jamie asks, face solemn.

“No, not my tummy,” Steve tells him. “Uh…” He pats his chest. “Chest.”

Jamie tilts his head. “Chest?”

Steve coughs. “I have a cough.”

“Oh!” Jamie frowns. “Get better? Come play?”

“Yeah, I’ll be better soon and I’ll come play.”

Jamie’s frown clears. “Dump truck,” he says.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, no idea what Jamie’s talking about.

“Dump truck!” He insists.

“Steve doesn’t have a dump truck,” Bucky breaks in. “But maybe you can share yours.”

Jamie scowls. “ _No_ share.”

“Yes share,” Becca counters, off-camera. “We share with our friends.”

Jamie blows a raspberry and then giggles wildly. “Not share baby.”

“You’re not going to share with Ella?” Bucky asks.

“No way,” Jamie confirms.

“Well, that ain’t very nice,” Bucky chides gently. “She’s your little sister. You gotta look out for her.”

“Baby,” Jamie mutters darkly. Steve laughs a little, and he can feel the mucous in his chest rattle around. Gross.

“Okay, Jamie, Steve needs to sleep now,” Bucky says. “Can you say goodnight?”

“Nigh-nigh, Steve,” Jamie says sweetly, and Steve can’t stop the smile that takes over his face. It really is adorable.

“Night, Jamie.”

Becca turns the camera on herself. “You’re feeling alright, Steve? I mean, as good as you can?” She actually looks concerned and Steve feels touched.

“Oh, I’m fine.” Steve tries to sound jovial. “Pneumonia’s been trying to kill me my whole life and hasn’t gotten me yet.”

Becca grins at him. “You’re a fighter. Keep it up.” Steve nods, worn out, and Bucky pulls the phone back. “How you doing?” Steve hears Becca ask lowly. “The hospital’s not freaking you out?”

“I’m fine, Becca,” Bucky promises, a warning note in his voice. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” she admonishes. “And call Ma. She’s freaking out. She thinks you’re texting her instead of calling because Steve’s dying and you don’t want to break the news to her.”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, I will.” He shakes his head at Steve as he hangs up. “My ma has some issues with people getting sick and being in the hospital.”

Steve thinks about how she must have felt while Bucky was recovering and can’t really blame her. “We can Skype her, too,” he offers, though his voice comes out a little weak. Bucky frowns a little.

“Nah, I’ll call her. She’s going to come see you tomorrow. You should go to sleep now.”

Steve shakes his head, but his eyes are feeling heavy again. “’m awake,” he slurs.

“Oh, yeah, you’re ready to go clubbing or something,” Bucky says sarcastically. “Go to sleep. I’ll be just outside on the phone.”

“Where’s mine?” Steve forces the question out, sleep starting to pull him under again.

“Your phone?” Bucky asks. “I got it. You need it now?”

“Mmm…” Steve loses the thread of the conversation. He’s only got one eye open now, and it’s only open a little slit. It feels like there are weights dragging his eyelids down. He watches hazily as Bucky puts Steve’s phone on the table by his bed.

“Your phone’s here,” Bucky tells him. “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep.”

“’kay,” Steve agrees. It’s a relief to let himself fall back into sleep again.

  
Steve only has vague memories of waking up with the nurse rotation changes and the checks they do. He’s used to it, but Bucky looks uncomfortable each time. He’s still in the chair beside Steve’s bed.

Steve’s not sure when, but at some point he mumbles out, “You can come here,” and gestures vaguely at the bed. “Sleep.”

“Shh, I’m fine,” Bucky whispers. “Don’t want to get in your way. Just go back to sleep.”

“m’feet,” Steve says. “Cold.”

“Your feet are cold? I can get the nurse back in here with socks.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re better.”

Bucky hesitates. “The bed’s not that big,” he points out.

“Bucky,” Steve whines plaintively, feeling like he’s going to cry. He’s cold and he’s in the hospital and he’s sick and his mom isn’t here and he’s _cold_.

“Hey, hey, alright,” Bucky says quickly. “Hang on.” He comes over to the side of the bed without the monitors and the IV and gently pushes Steve over to make room before climbing up. The bed’s small enough that he has to pull Steve against his chest, and Steve sighs when Bucky puts his arms around him. Bucky’s warm. Even his metal arm is warm. He slides his legs around Steve’s feet and Steve wants to cry a little.

“So warm,” Steve mumbles, already mostly asleep again.

“Good,” Bucky says, his voice right in Steve’s ear. “Go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Steve protests, or he thinks he does; he’s fuzzy on whether or not any of this is actually happening or if he’s dreaming.

But when he wakes up the next morning cocooned in Bucky’s arms, he knows it wasn’t a dream. Now that he’s actually awake and not just floating in that muzzy space between awake and asleep, he’s embarrassed. He basically begged Bucky to cuddle with him.

Steve never wants to be babied when he’s sick, and he’s made things worse more than once by refusing to slow down, but apparently the concoction of drugs, fever, and exhaustion made him extra loopy.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs when he notices Steve’s awake. “Sleep alright?”

“I guess,” Steve says. He presses his face into the pillow, dodging Bucky’s eyes. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Bucky asks, and Steve is suddenly very aware of Bucky’s arms around his waist, his thumb rubbing a little circle against the small of Steve’s back.

“Sorry I got all weird last night and begged you to warm me up.”

Bucky laughs a little. “Hey, pal, you think you’re the first to beg me to get into bed with you? Give me some credit.”

That makes Steve laugh, and he feels a little better. Bucky doesn’t sound annoyed. “Is it morning?” Steve asks. Being in the hospital always throws off his sense of time.

“Yeah, it’s about nine,” Bucky reports. “You gotta eat something.”

Steve grimaces. Food does not sound good. But he knows Bucky’s right—the last thing he needs is to let his blood sugar get out of whack so he falls into a diabetic coma on top of the pneumonia.

“Sam and Natasha brought your meds,” Bucky says. He starts to pull away. “I’ll get them.” Mostly against his will, Steve’s hand, clutching at the hem of Bucky’s shirt, tightens. He’s so comfortable and warm like this, and it’s been a long time since he’s curled up like this with anyone. Maybe he’s touch-starved in addition to the pneumonia. Bucky gives him a little smile. “You gotta let go,” he points out.

Embarrassed again and blushing now, Steve pulls his hand back. “Sorry.”

The door opens and a nurse comes in. “Oh,” he says, taking in the scene. “I’m sorry, but we need to take your vitals.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “I’ll move.”

“You can stay there, actually,” the nurse says. “As long as Steve here gives me the other arm. I’m Jason, I’ll be here for the morning and afternoon.”

Steve’s blushing all the way down his chest now; he can feel it. “Oh, great,” Bucky says. “Give him your arm.”

Steve does as he’s told, and he keeps his hold on Bucky’s shirt as Jason takes his blood. Bucky winces a little at the sight of the needle, and Steve brushes a knuckle against his stomach to distract him. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him and Steve rolls his eyes back.

“All done,” Jason says. “The doctor will come in soon.”

“Hey, can you grab that bag?” Bucky asks. “Steve’s got his regular medicine he needs to take, uh, the insulin and the thyroid stuff we talked about. Does he need to take his asthma medicine or are you guys dealing with his lungs?”

“I still gotta take it,” Steve says, knowing the drill by now. Jason hands over Steve’s backpack and Bucky pulls out the plastic bag with all his medications in it. Bucky kind of glances at Jason, still standing there, and Steve tells him, “He’s gotta watch to make sure I don’t take a dose that’ll mess with the drugs they’re giving me.”

“You’re a frequent flyer, huh?” Jason jokes.

Steve blows out a tiny breath, all he can spare at the moment. “I’ve probably paid for this whole wing by now.”

After Steve takes all his medicine and Bucky’s handed him his glasses, he fixes Bucky with a look. “Did Sam and Natasha bring _your_ meds?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says. He reaches into Steve’s backpack and pulls out his own pillbox, googly eyes and all, and dry swallows his own dose. “Happy?” He turns to Jason. “He needs some breakfast.”

Jason goes to get Steve’s food squared away, and Bucky puts every pillow on the bed behind Steve’s head and shoulders. “Last night that nurse, uh, Sharon? She said you need to sit up as much as possible to help open up your lungs.”

“I know, Bucky,” Steve points out. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Bucky glares at him. “You’re in the fucking hospital, Steve. Would you please just let me take care of you?” Steve’s a little taken aback. “How about if I tell you it helps keep me from freaking out?” Bucky adds.

Steve sighs a little. “Okay,” he says. “But I can only guarantee a good attitude for today. All bets are off for tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you can even guarantee that for all of today,” Bucky mutters. Steve elbows him. Bucky spreads his arms incredulously. “This is the thanks I get?”

“Oh, thank you, Bucky,” Steve simpers. “You’re the light of my life. What would I do without you?” His snark is undercut by a wheeze and a cough.

“Hold still,” Bucky grouses. “You’re gonna push me off.”

“I’m so weak I can hardly move my arms,” Steve points out. “How would I be strong enough to push you out of bed?”

“You’re taking up the whole thing!”

“Just get closer, then!”

“Stop elbowing me!”

“Am I interrupting something?” Natasha asks in the doorway.  
  
“Natasha!” Steve says.

“I’m glad you’re coherent this time,” she tells him with a smile. “Last night when I got here you were drooling.”

“He’s still drooling,” Bucky mutters.

“Clint’s parking,” Natasha reveals. “And Riley’s coming after school. Sam has group this morning and some appointments in the afternoon but he’ll drop in sometime.”

“You trusted Clint with your car?” Steve asks. Natasha laughs.

“There aren’t very many other cars in the parking lot right now.”

“Knock knock!” Winifred calls from the door. She does a little double-take when she sees Bucky in the bed with Steve but recovers quickly. Bailey and George are behind her.

“Hi, guys,” Steve says.

“Are you alright?” Winifred asks. She looks anxious, and she’s twisting her hands together. Steve feels guilty for worrying her.

“I’m fine,” he promises.

“You’re in the hospital,” George says skeptically. “Not exactly fine.”

“Well, fine considering the circumstances,” Steve amends. Clint walks in the door.

“Hey, man,” he says, raising a hand to reveal three fingers bandaged together. He’s always got some kind of injury.

“You two were at the wedding,” Winifred says. “Natasha and…Clint?”

“That’s us,” Clint confirms.

“Bucky said you passed out,” Bailey tells Steve, eyes a little wide.

“Oh, yeah.” Steve laughs a little sheepishly. “That happens sometimes.”

“And what happened to your fingers?” Winifred is fussing over Clint in the background.

“Aww, bowstring,” he tells her with a shrug.

“You pass out a lot?” George asks, concerned.

“Has he had breakfast?” Natasha murmurs to Bucky.

“The nurse went to get it, but he took his meds already.”

“Steve!” Dugan comes in the door, wearing an official-looking jacket and his camera around his neck. “I was two blocks over photographing an arson. Are you okay?”

Steve is, quite frankly, feeling a little crowded. The room isn’t huge, and he’s not used to having so many people hovering around him. Not to mention he’s exhausted, and he feels a little awkward about the fact that he’s still got a hand tangled in the bottom of Bucky’s shirt.

“Clint and I are going to find out what’s going on with your food,” Natasha says, noticing Steve’s discomfort. “We’ll be back.”

“Go easy on ‘em,” Steve requests, slumping back a little on his pillows. Bucky fusses over the arrangement of the pillows again.

“Do you want your hearing aid?” He asks. “They took it out when you got here but I’ve got it.”

Steve rolls his neck, wincing at the stiffness that comes with being sick. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Maybe later.” He makes himself focus on Dugan. “I’m fine,” he says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course I’d come,” Dugan says. “The rest of the guys are planning to stop by today, too, if you’re up for it.”

“Tell them it has to be a short visit,” Bucky requests. “He’s tired.”

“I’m fine,” Steve repeats stubbornly. Bucky gives him an exasperated look.

“Listen, I’ve got to get back,” Dugan says. “I’m still supposed to be at the site, but I figured I was close enough to drop in for a minute.”

“You left in the middle of work?” Steve asks.

Dugan shrugs. “Not like the building’s going anywhere.” He squeezes Steve’s shoulder gently. “Don’t let Sarge nag you too much. I twisted my ankle once in the field and I thought he was going to strap me down to take care of me.”

Steve laughs a little while Bucky huffs indignantly, “That’s because you wouldn’t elevate your leg!”

“He gets _so_ bossy when you’re sick,” Bailey agrees. “I got chickenpox when I was eight and he wouldn’t even let me get out of bed. He carried me to the bathroom!”

Bucky blushes a little and mutters under his breath. Steve can’t catch everything, but he hears “idiots who won’t take care of themselves” and “just trying to help.” It’s incredibly endearing.

“Mother hen,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“Don’t play poker with him,” Dugan advises. “He cheats.”

“I do not,” Bucky protests. “You’re just terrible at poker.”

Dugan raises his hand, probably to flip Bucky off, but he glances at Winifred and smiles sheepishly. “I’ll come back. Feel better.”

After he leaves, Winifred bustles into the space by Steve’s bed and starts fluffing the pillows he’s lying on and tugging at the sheets. “These don’t seem very warm,” she says, and it’s an innocent statement but it makes Steve blush scarlet as he remembers the whole debacle with being cold.

“I’m warm enough,” he says, toes snug between Bucky’s calves and Bucky’s body giving off heat beside him. Bucky smirks a little and Steve rolls his eyes. “Sorry I missed the dinner you made,” he tells Winifred.

“Oh, honey, don’t even worry about that.” She squints distrustfully at the monitor beside his bed. “Why isn’t this right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the beeping isn’t very steady,” she points out.

“I’ve got an arrhythmia,” Steve says. “So it’s my heart that’s not right, not the monitor.”

“Oh, dear,” she murmurs. “I was talking to one of those nurses and she said an air filter in the apartment might help you breathe better, so we’re going to look at some later today.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Steve argues weakly. “The air’s already way better than where I was living. There was mold all over the walls.”

“Mold?” George asks, appalled.

“We bleached it a million times and it kept coming back,” Steve says, revealing more than he normally would because he’s so tired. “And I had to stay away for a whole day every time we bleached because it makes me cough.”

Natasha and Clint come back in, trailed by a nurse with a tray of food. “Breakfast,” the nurse says, setting the tray in front of Steve. He sighs a little. Hospital food. It’s some kind of mushy, overcooked oatmeal. He doesn’t have to check to make sure there’s no milk in it; the hospital has his records, and Natasha probably already badgered the poor nurse.

“Mmm,” Bucky tries. “Looks great.”

It looks slimy. But Natasha probably isn’t above force-feeding him, so he lifts the spoon and takes a bite. It’s awkward with everyone watching him. Winifred is frowning at the oatmeal.

“Just call when you’re done,” the nurse instructs. “The doctor will be in to talk to you when you’re finished up.”

Swallowing hurts a little because of the tube he’d had down his throat, but it’s mushy enough that Steve doesn’t have to do much. He wishes everyone would stop looking at him while he’s eating.

“Have you eaten anything?” He asks Bucky.

Winifred swings her focus to Bucky. “Did you stay here all night?” She asks.

“I ate last night,” he answers Steve.

“You slept here?” Winifred sounds distressed. “Alone?”

“Steve’s here,” Bucky points out. “So I wasn’t alone.”

“But…” George glances at Steve. “Not that you wouldn’t be enough, Steve, but was he even conscious?”

“Look, it’s fine,” Bucky says, cutting off further argument. “I ate here last night and I’ll eat after your doctor comes and talks to you.”

Steve frowns a little. Bucky’s proven to be pretty meticulous in eating—he has a schedule, and he always eats on time. Steve doesn’t know if this decision to wait is a breakthrough or something to be worried about.

“Want a bite of this?” Steve offers. Bucky snorts.

“Don’t try to pawn that off on me. You have to eat the whole thing.”

Steve makes a face. There’s not even any sugar or anything in it. His hand shakes a little as he takes a drink, and some water sloshes out. He sighs. He hates the hospital. He hates being sick. He hates his weak lungs. He can feel himself slipping into a dark mood.

“We’ll leave you be,” Winifred says, still frowning at Bucky. “Call if you need anything, and keep us updated. We’ll come back later.”

“Thanks for coming,” Steve says mechanically. He could be wheezing out his dying breath and he’d have to be polite. His mother was insistent.

Natasha slips into the chair beside Steve’s bed and Clint leans against it. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in the hospital, huh?” Clint comments. “You’ve been doing good.”

“You were in the hospital last year and I wasn’t,” Steve remembers. “That was weird.”

“I wasn’t in the hospital,” Clint protests. “I just had a broken rib.”

“And you had to go to the hospital and also get some stitches,” Natasha points out. “So you were in the hospital.”

“But I wasn’t _in_ the hospital in the hospital.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Steve mumbles around his spoon. He’s fading a bit. Bucky jostles him a little.

“Come on, stay awake,” he wheedles. “You gotta eat all that and make it through the doctor.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says.

“Boy, I’m gonna get sick of hearing that, aren’t I?” Bucky mutters.

“You’re not already?” Natasha asks.

Steve takes a bigger bite to get through the bowl faster and successfully chokes himself. Clint immediately starts laughing at him. Natasha pokes him in the ribs. Bucky pats Steve on the back, but he’s laughing, too.

“Is anyone going to make a joke about choking in bed or…?” Natasha smirks. Steve sputters some more while Clint and Bucky completely lose it. Clint laughs so hard he falls over.

“I have pneumonia,” Steve whines. “Quit picking on me.”

“You just make it so easy sometimes,” Natasha says apologetically. Steve drags his spoon around a few more times.

“I can’t eat any more,” he says. Bucky peers into the bowl. Steve’s managed about half of it, and it’s getting cold and congealing so it looks even less appetizing than when the nurse brought it. Bucky grimaces.

“I don’t blame you.”

Natasha and Clint take off when the doctor comes in, and Bucky moves off the bed to the chair. Steve doesn’t embarrass himself and cling this time, luckily. The doctor doesn’t say anything Steve hasn’t heard before—antibiotics, keeping an eye on his breathing, yadda yadda. Steve’s glad he’s had pneumonia often enough that he doesn’t really have to pay close attention, because he’s starting to fall asleep.

“You should go home,” Steve murmurs to Bucky after the doctor leaves. “Eat something, get away from here.”

Bucky frowns, mulling it over. “I can eat downstairs in the cafeteria.”

“Buck,” Steve protests. “Take a break for a while. You don’t normally go this long without eating.”

Bucky waves a hand around. “I can go a while without eating when I need to.” His eyes are determined, jaw set, and Steve suddenly gets it—this is Sergeant Barnes, not Bucky. This is a leader who’ll do whatever it takes to drag his guys to safety, no matter the toll on himself. Bucky’s treating this like a mission. Steve rubs his forehead. He doesn’t know how to handle this.

“I need to email Peggy,” he says. “Sharon’s her cousin and she’s going to tell her I’m in the hospital. Peg’s gonna be pissed.”

Bucky hands him his phone. Steve makes sure Bucky can’t see what he’s doing and scrolls through his contacts. He has Dugan’s number.

_Bucky won’t leave_ , he texts him. _He needs to get out of here for a while but says he doesn't…think he’s acting like this is an Army thing??_

Dugan’s response comes in less than a minute. _Sarge being Sarge. We’ll handle it._

Satisfied, Steve opens his email to send Peggy a message, but he doesn’t know what to say. “Is saying ‘hey, passed out from pneumonia but it’s no big deal’ tacky?” He asks Bucky. Bucky huffs.

“I think you’re past tacky,” he points out. “Sharon left like twelve hours ago. She probably already told her.”

“I guess I could call her.” The real problem, of course, is that he needs to explain the whole marriage thing. “I _should_ call her. Sharon also had to mention I suddenly had a husband.”

“Ooh, you didn’t tell her?” Bucky says.

“Well, it, uh, it didn’t come up,” Steve defends himself. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“When _would_ that come up? Does she regularly ask if you’re married?”

Steve groans. “Fine, I’ll call her.” He calls Peggy’s Skype number. They don’t usually call unless it’s something big, because Peggy’s always busy being wildly successful and slightly mysterious, but he figures he’s probably in deep trouble.

“Steve,” she answers. “You have pneumonia?” Just the sound of her voice sends butterflies through his stomach, even with how guilty he feels for not telling her about Bucky.

“Boy, news travels fast, huh?” Steve jokes. Peggy doesn’t laugh.

“Were you feeling sick and you just ignored it?”

Steve blows out a breath. “No, I…Pegs, I honestly didn’t realize. I just thought it was the heat, and allergies, and a sunburn. I didn’t get it.”

“Hm.” She pauses. “And is there something else you’d like to tell me?”

Steve winces. “Okay, so Sharon told you that, too?”

“You’re married?” There’s an undercurrent of hurt in Peggy’s voice that makes Steve feel terrible.

“Not really,” Steve says quickly. “I mean, yes, legally, technically, I’m married, but it’s not real, Peggy.”

“What does that mean?” She asks. “It’s not real?”

“Well, I told you about Bucky, remember, my new roommate? He needed to get married to get his college money cheaper, so…”

“You got married as a…business arrangement?” Peggy sounds shocked.  
  
“Yeah, it’s not real, it’s not like we’re in an actual relationship or in love or anything like that,” Steve promises. “It’s only for a year.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky stand up.

“I’m gonna go eat,” he mumbles, backing away. Steve nods and waves at him.

“That doesn’t sound like something you’d do,” Peggy tells him. “Not at all.”

Steve sighs a little. “It’s a long story. Well, sorta. I mean…” He sighs again. “His parents are paying me. And I don’t have to pay rent. And I can paint and draw and take commissions. And we get along really well, so it’s not like I’m miserable.” _Anymore_ , he thinks. It _was_ a bit touch-and-go in the beginning.

Peggy’s quiet for a minute. “Well, I’m glad it’s going alright,” she says cautiously. “It does sound strange to me, though.”

“I know, it sounds weird, but it’s actually working out. Bucky’s great. He stayed here with me all night so I wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“I’m glad for that,” Peggy admits grudgingly.

“I didn’t want you to think…” Steve trails off. “Well, I just didn’t want you to think I’d get married without telling you. Or anything like that.”

“Good to know,” she says, a smile in her voice, and Steve feels a smile overtake his face. “How are you feeling?” She adds.

“I’m alright. Tired. I haven’t been coughing too much so far this morning. A little wiped out from having so many visitors.”

“Isn’t it barely ten over there?” Peggy asks. “How many visitors have you had?”

“Natasha and Clint were here, and one of Bucky’s Army buddies, and then Bucky’s family came, too—well, part of his family, he’s got a huge family, actually, but Beth’s at camp and Becca and Mark have little kids, so they couldn’t come since I’m contagious. But his parents and one sister came.”

“Oh, you’re close with his family?” Peggy’s voice sounds a little strange.

“Yeah, kinda, I guess.” Steve shrugs even though Peggy can’t see him. “They’re great. They’ve been so nice to me. His ma, especially.”

“That’s wonderful,” Peggy says warmly. “I’m glad you’ve got people to be there with you. Listen, darling, I’ve got to go into a meeting. Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, of course. I just—I wanted to make sure everything was clear.”

“Thank you for calling. I’ll talk to you later.”

Steve sets his phone back on the bedside table and lies back against the pillows. He’s exhausted, and he’s only been awake for an hour. He’s contemplating a morning nap when a nurse he knows pokes her head into his room. Her name is Grace, and he’s known her for years. She worked with his mother.

“Steve,” she says, half-happy and half-chiding. “You know I’d prefer if we didn’t meet up this way.”

“Hi, Grace,” he says, and he can tell his voice sounds tired. She frowns a little.

“Where’s your young man I’ve heard so much about?”

“You’ve heard about him?” Steve asks.

“Of course. He’s the hottest gossip in the nurse’s station. The handsome young man who stayed by your side all night.”

Steve blushes a little. “He went to eat some breakfast.”

“Word on the street is he’s dreamy.”

“Dreamy?” Steve echoes, laughing. “Grace, people don’t call guys dreamy anymore.”

“Why not?” She asks, slightly miffed. “Is he the type you dream of?”

“I don’t know—”

“Handsome, sweet, dependable?”

“I guess, but—”

“But nothing. I’m calling him dreamy.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “So there. Should we try getting you up and into the bathroom?”

Steve considers. He should get up. It would make him feel a little better, less like a complete invalid. And he does need to go to the bathroom. But on the other hand, the bathroom looks impossibly far away, and he’s so tired. He doesn’t weigh much, and Grace can help him, but it’s a little embarrassing that he honestly doesn’t know if he can walk that far. Then again, using the bed pan is a million times more embarrassing.

“Yeah, let’s give it a shot,” he says, not wanting to be a total weakling who just lies around all day.

Grace helps him up, and he has to stand still for a minute while his head rushes, and they make their way slowly to the bathroom. “Do I need to come in with you?” Grace asks frankly.

“No, I’m okay,” Steve promises. “I’ll hold onto the bar.”

By the time he gets back to his bed, he’s completely exhausted. He’s practically drooping on his feet. Grace gets him situated back in bed and brushes the hair off his forehead.

“You go to sleep,” she orders. “Get your rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve mumbles, already halfway out. He’s kind of surprised Bucky’s been gone so long, considering he didn’t even want to leave in the first place. Steve’s feet are cold again, and the bed feels bigger all alone. He sticks to the side so Bucky has room on the bed when he gets back, and drifts off to sleep hoping it’s not too long before that happens.

  
Steve wakes up alone, but he can hear Bucky’s voice. He stirs, trying to see who Bucky’s talking to, and Bucky turns around to face him. Morita’s in the doorway.

“Hey, Cap,” Morita says. “You like scaring everybody?”

“Morita,” Bucky scolds. “Don’t make him feel bad.”

“Ah, he knows I’m kidding. No one was worried about his sorry ass.”

Steve laughs a little, and coughs a little, and Bucky comes over and props him up with pillows and hands him a glass of water.

“I was trying to convince Sarge to head home for a while,” Morita confides.

“You should,” Steve tells Bucky. “I’m mostly just sleeping anyway. Not much fun.”

“You’re more fun when you’re asleep than awake,” Bucky fires back, and Steve would love to have a snappy retort but all he can do is roll his eyes.

“I’m just a little worried,” Steve says softly. “Don’t want you to crash later because you’re pushing yourself.”

Bucky sighs. “I’m fine. Really. Everyone acts like I’m two seconds from jumping out that window.”

“Well, that would be really bad, because those windows don’t open,” Steve manages to joke. “Come on, Buck. You could go home and take a shower. Get away from the hospital smell for a while.”

Bucky bites at his thumbnail. “Okay,” he finally agrees. “I—I guess I’ll go.” He tries to crack a smile. “Your sketchbook is in your bag, if you feel good enough to draw. You gonna get a sponge bath while I’m gone?”

Morita snorts. “Surprised you’d let anyone else do it.”

“You saying I stink?” Steve asks.

“You always stink,” Bucky says.

Morita throws an arm around Bucky’s neck. “Come on, Sarge. Your hair’s a mess. Can hardly believe you're letting people see you like this, let alone your lover boy.”

They’re heading out the door and Steve is struck with a fear in the pit of his stomach that he's going to be all alone again. He hates being alone in the hospital. “Bucky,” he calls out. Bucky immediately turns around.

“What?” He asks. “You need something ‘fore I go?”

“No,” Steve says, blushing a little now. “I just—you’re coming back, right? Are you gonna…tonight?”

Bucky comes back to Steve’s side. “I’ll come back tonight,” he promises softly. “Keep you warm.”

Steve cracks a sheepish smile. “These blankets,” he says with a shrug. “They’re just not that great.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay.” Steve nods. “Thanks.”

“Come on, Sarge, kiss him goodbye and let’s go. Sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back,” Morita points out.

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Yeah.” Something flashes in his eyes, a little hesitation, almost pain, and Steve realizes in a rush Morita’s _watching_ and Bucky’s going to have to kiss him and he’s probably worried about that.

“I’m still contagious,” Steve says. “Don’t kiss me. I don’t want you to catch anything.”

“Right.” Bucky hesitates for another second, half-glancing at Morita, then leans down and brushes his lips against Steve’s forehead.

“I’ll be back,” he murmurs. “Be good.”

“Oh, I’m always good,” Steve says. His voice sticks in his throat a little, and Bucky gives him a last little wave as he walks out the door.

  
Steve’s drawing when Sam comes in. “Hey, man,” Sam says. “Good to see you up.”

“Hi,” Steve greets him, wincing at how harsh his voice sounds. Sam makes a little face, too, and immediately hands Steve the glass of water on his bedside table.

“At least you’re awake, though, right?” Sam asks.

“I feel alright,” Steve lies. It’s not a _completely_ horrible lie. He doesn’t feel terrible. He’s just exhausted. And cold. And his sides hurt from coughing. And he feels like he never wants to eat anything ever again.

“Sure you do.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Riley should be here any minute. He texted me when he was leaving school.”

“You guys don’t have to hang out here,” Steve protests. “I know hospitals bring back bad memories.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “That’s true, but I’ve also spent some time in hospitals with your sorry ass.”

“Why are you so many people calling my ass sorry today?” Steve mutters. Sam looks confused, but Steve shakes his head.

“Anyway,” Sam says. “Even if we don’t hang out here, we still have to at least make sure you’re alive and well.”

Steve spreads his arms out and gives himself a coughing fit. Sam snorts and hands him his water again. Steve closes his sketchbook and sets it aside, not wanting to spill water on it.

“You better be drawing for fun and not work,” Sam warns. “I’ll take it away.”

“Even if it’s work, it’s still fun,” Steve points out. “So balance that.”

Riley comes in then, eyes a little wild. “Steve,” he breathes. Riley had to spend over a month in the hospital after his accident, getting multiple surgeries and then an infection that knocked him down even more. Hospitals are always shaky for him.

Steve should really spend less time in the hospital out of consideration for his friends.

“I’m fine,” he promises Riley. Sam grabs Riley’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

“He’s hospital-fine,” Sam corrects. “Which is good enough, for now.”

Riley’s breathing calms down a bit now that he’s got Sam grounding him, and he cracks a smile. “I always think I’m pretty much over it, but…” he trails off, shaking his head.

“You never have to be,” Sam reminds him gently.

Riley sighs and shrugs. “Well, they keeping you fed?”

“Oh, yeah, you know how I love that gourmet hospital food,” Steve snorts.

“Really top notch,” Riley laughs. “Basically sludge. At least you’re in a civilian hospital! You don’t even want to think about the food in an Army hospital.”

“I can imagine,” Steve agrees. His phone buzzes with a text from a number he doesn’t recognize.

_Cap it’s Morita. On our way back. Sarge freaking out a little._

Steve’s heart sinks. “Oh, no,” he murmurs.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“It’s Bucky. Morita dragged him out of here to get a shower and I was hoping he’d sleep for a while or something, but apparently he’s freaking out.”

“Freaking out how?” Sam sounds cautious and Steve remembers his conversation with Dugan. He pauses.

“Did something happen with you and Bucky?” He asks bluntly. Sam’s shaking his head before the question’s all the way out of Steve’s mouth.

“You know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But I’m his husband now,” Steve points out triumphantly. “Doesn’t that get me around the confidentiality thing?”

“Not without his permission it doesn’t,” Sam insists. “I’m not violating his privacy like that, Steve, and you should know better than to ask me.”

“Sorry,” Steve sighs. “I just know he’s not going to tell me.”

“Have you tried asking?” Riley speaks up. Sam and Steve both look at him and he shrugs a little. “I know a lot of guys won’t just offer that kind of stuff up, but he might tell you if you ask him point-blank.”

“I…haven’t asked,” Steve realizes. “I figured I shouldn’t.”

“I’m not so sure you figured wrong,” Sam says. “Look, I can tell you guys are getting close, but you still haven’t known each other long. You don’t want to mess up the trust you _have_ built by asking for too much too soon.”

Steve blows out a frustrated breath. “How are we supposed to get any _closer_ if he won’t tell me and I can’t ask?”

Before Sam can answer, they’re interrupted by a commotion in the hallway, and Steve feels a little dread in the pit of his stomach. It’s Bucky; he just knows it. Sure enough, seconds later, Bucky comes skidding into the room, hair flying everywhere, eyes out of focus.

“Steve,” he says, voice harsh, and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s on the bed, an arm wrapped securely around Steve’s shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Bucky,” Steve says cautiously. “I’m okay. Nothing bad’s happening. I’m in the hospital so I can get better.”

Morita runs into the room. “Barnes, calm down,” he pants.

“Bucky,” Steve repeats gently, not moving to get out of the tight hold Bucky’s got him in. “We’re in New York. I have pneumonia. Remember?”

Bucky blinks a few times and swallows hard. His eyes dart from Steve to the IV in his arm to Morita to Sam and Riley. Sam’s mouth is set in a sad, worried line. Bucky sags, shoulders hunching up to his ears as he releases Steve. Steve wants to touch him, grab his arm, hold his hand, _something_ to reassure him, but he’s pretty sure that’s a bad idea.

“It’s okay,” he soothes quickly, before Bucky can even apologize.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, gnawing at his lip. Tears spring into his eyes and he lets his hair fall forward to cover his face. “I thought I was—shit.”

“Buck, stop, it’s okay,” Steve insists.

“Did I hurt anybody?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Sam says firmly. “You were just protecting.”

Bucky stares at Sam for a long minute, searching his face for any indication he’s lying. “Okay,” he finally breathes. “God, this is…” He rubs his hands over his face.

“It’s totally understandable,” Sam says. He’s got his therapist voice on, the one he doesn’t use on his friends often because he tries hard not to blur that line. “This is the first time you’ve been back in a hospital since your discharge, right?”

Bucky nods, still biting at his lip.

“Dissociation isn’t unexpected,” Sam continues. “You kept it together really well, actually. Being in the hospital yourself didn’t bother you; leaving Steve here did. You’re a good guy, Barnes.”

Bucky hunches in on himself even further. “Okay.”

Morita’s biting his lip, too, but he looks furious. Steve can relate. All he can think about is finding the people responsible for hurting Bucky and making them pay.

“What do you need to be able to regroup?” Sam asks. Bucky shrugs and Sam purses his lips. “You wanna tell me five things you can see right now?”

“I don’t want to,” Bucky mutters. “I don’t need this. I’m fine now.”  
  
“Just fucking do it, Sarge,” Morita barks.

Now Bucky just looks sullen. “Pencil, IV, water glass, pillow, bird shit.”

“Bird shit?” Steve asks.

“On the window,” Bucky clarifies, pointing, and Steve looks over to see, yep, bird shit on the window.

“Okay, that’s good,” Sam tells Bucky.

“Look, I’m not a baby,” Bucky says. “I’m fine. I freaked out and now I’m fine. We don’t need to make a big deal out of it.”

Steve expects Sam to argue—it seems like something they should make a big deal out of—but Sam just shrugs. “Alright,” he agrees easily. “Riley and I are gonna head home now, since you’re here to sit with Steve.” He gives Morita a look.

“Yeah, I gotta get going, too,” Morita says. “You call if you need me, alright?”

“I’m fine now,” Bucky repeats, jaw set.

“Okay,” Sam says soothingly, shooting Morita raised eyebrows. “You’re fine.” He turns to Steve. “Keep us updated, okay? When you’re getting released, what the doctor says, how you’re feeling.” He puts a little emphasis on _how you’re feeling_ that Bucky and Morita probably don’t catch but Steve does. He wants Steve to keep in contact about Bucky.

“Sure,” Steve agrees. “Of course.”

They leave and Bucky relaxes beside Steve. “Did you talk to the doctor while I was gone?”

“No, he hasn’t been in since this morning. Just had the routine stuff checked by the nurses.” Steve looks closely at Bucky’s face. He looks completely placid, and Steve doesn’t want to ruin that by asking questions about whatever just happened.

“Oh, you been drawing?” Bucky asks, glancing at Steve’s sketchbook.

“Yeah, a bit. Cleaned up some sketches from the lake.”

“Good, that’s good.” Bucky’s voice is kind of weird; a little higher-pitched than normal and distant. “Are they bringing you dinner?”

“I didn’t ask for any,” Steve says truthfully. “I, uh, forgot.”

“Steve,” Bucky chides. “Gotta keep your strength up so you can get better.”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say. “I know,” he manages. “I just didn’t really think about it.”

“I’ll call the nurse,” Bucky says, but before he can do anything, Bailey shows up.

“Mom sent me with soup,” she announces, holding up a bag. “She didn’t want either of you eating hospital food. But she couldn’t bring it.” She lowers her voice. “Being here this morning was hard on her.”

“Aw, Mom’s so sensitive,” Bucky says, and Steve has to work to keep his face neutral.

“You know how she is about hospitals,” Bailey shrugs, pulling a Tupperware container out of the bag. “There are brownies in here, too, but she said to take them home if you don’t feel up to eating them now.”

“And look at this,” Bucky says, shaking his head and laughing a little. He pulls out a Ziploc bag of rolls. “She spoils you.”

“She wouldn’t even let me eat any until she filled up the whole bag,” Bailey adds, giving Steve a dirty look. Steve huffs out a laugh, but his throat is tight. He wants to cover his face so Bucky and Bailey don’t see how emotional he’s getting over a bag of rolls.

This is the kind of taking care of him Steve can handle. She isn’t babying him, she isn’t trying to do things for him he can do for himself—she knows what he likes and she’s giving it to him. And it makes him want to cry a little. He chalks it up to the fever. And the fact that being sick always makes him miss his mother more. He thinks that's got to be some kind of nature thing.

Bailey steals a roll, and the three of them are quiet for a few minutes. Bucky won’t eat until Steve finishes. Steve hardly feels like eating, even with how good the food is and how sweet it was for Winifred to send it over, but he makes himself.

“Can I stay longer?” Bailey blurts out when Steve passes the soup to Bucky and closes his eyes for a second.

“Well, you got an hour until visiting hours end,” Bucky says. “What’s going on? You don’t want to go home?”

Bailey shrugs and fusses with the bag she’s holding. “No.”

Bucky looks thoughtfully at Bailey. “What’s your deal lately?”

“I don’t have a deal,” she mutters sullenly. “I’m just sick of Mom and Dad trying to control everything.”  
  
Bucky raises his eyebrows. Steve feels awkward. It’s not like he can go anywhere, but he still feels a little like this isn’t a conversation he should be overhearing. This is their family. He feels a little stab of annoyance at Bailey for talking about George and Winifred that way when they’ve been nothing but nice to him, but he doesn’t actually know them all that well.

But apparently Bucky agrees with him, because he frowns deeply. “Bailey,” he says sharply. “You don’t have a goddamn clue how good you’ve got it.”

Bailey blows out a frustrated breath. “I’m really sick of hearing that.”

“Tough shit, kid, it’s the truth.”

“I should’ve been a dumb camp counselor just to get away for the summer like Beth.” Bailey’s trying to sound tough, but her lower lip is trembling.

“Hey, come on,” Bucky says gently. “What’s going on?”

“Mom and Dad still think I need a curfew. I’m eighteen! I’m starting college in the fall. I shouldn’t have a curfew! I’m an _adult_.”

“They just don’t want anything to happen to you,” Bucky says.

“Because they think I’m a little kid who can’t handle myself,” Bailey pouts. Bucky’s mouth twists a little, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks at Steve and sighs a little.

“This isn’t a good conversation when Steve’s trying to get better,” he finally says. “Look, he’s falling asleep on us.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve protests, even though he’s kind of lying. He’s just resting his eyes.

“Fine,” Bailey says, and Steve’s eyes are still closed but he can hear that her voice is choked. “I’ll leave.”

“You can stay,” Steve murmurs. “Fine with me.”

“We just gotta be quiet,” Bucky tells her.

“I’ll be silent,” Bailey promises quietly. “You’ll forget I’m here.”

Bucky snorts, apparently doubtful of his sister’s ability to maintain silence for any amount of time, but he doesn’t say anything else. Steve tries to stay awake. He really does. But he stayed awake all afternoon, and the last hour has been entirely too eventful.

When he wakes up next, the room is dark. Bailey’s gone, and Bucky’s slipped under the covers with him and fallen asleep. Steve watches Bucky’s face for a while. He looks a little more rested than usual, which is nice, but he’s frowning even in his sleep, looking fitful and unhappy.

While Steve watches, Bucky grimaces and turns his head away. He looks like he’s in pain. It makes Steve’s stomach hurt a little. Or maybe that’s because he ate more than he has in two days. Bucky makes a little whining noise in his throat.

Steve doesn’t know what to do. He already knows waking Bucky up from a nightmare is a terrible idea. He certainly can’t handle falling out of this bed. But Bucky’s not thrashing as violently as he had the other night; he just seems uncomfortable.

Cautiously, Steve inches his cold toes toward Bucky’s legs. He hopes this doesn’t backfire. He entwines his legs with Bucky’s and Bucky sighs a little. The furrow between his eyebrows doesn’t disappear, but his body settles a little.

Steve holds his breath and settles an arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky doesn’t immediately fling him out of the bed, so he relaxes and closes his eyes again. He wonders what Bucky’s dreaming. Probably horrible memories from when he was held captive.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall asleep, when he just slept for who knows how long in the afternoon. He has some silly idea he’ll somehow be able to keep Bucky’s dreams at bay by lying awake beside him. Whether there’s any truth to that can’t really be tested, though. Warm and comfortable, Steve slips back into sleep beside Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to anyone who knows anything about hospitals/medicine in general. I couldn't find much by way of research, and there are things I had to fudge a bit on purpose.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of time to write on flights, so here is another chapter, woohoo!

Bucky doesn't leave at all the last day Steve's in the hospital, and Steve decides not to push it. Last time didn't exactly work out well, and just because Bucky's acting like nothing happened doesn't mean it wasn't a shock to his system.

But finally, _finally_ , Steve gets to leave, armed with strict instructions about resting and drinking fluids and taking his medicine and doing his breathing treatments. He's excited, in a muted, tired kind of way. He can't stand the smell of the hospital, and it's going to follow him around for a few days, even after he showers, which he tries to do as soon as Sam drops them off at home with a calm,

"Let me know if you need anything," that Steve can hear an additional admonition in.  
  
"You can't shower," Bucky protests, aghast, when Steve announces his intention. "You could fall!"

"I'm not going to fall," Steve says, rolling his eyes. "I can stand up for five minutes."

"No way," Bucky says firmly. "You should only take baths for the next week until you're stronger. The nurse told me."

"Which nurse?" Steve asks suspiciously.

"Sharon."

Of course. Steve's sure Peggy explained the situation to Sharon, because she kept giving him amused looks during her shift, and anyone could see (and everyone did) how overprotective Bucky is. She's doing this to torture him.

"Fine," Steve sighs, too tired to argue about it today. "I'll take a _bath_. Like a little kid."

Now Bucky rolls his eyes. "Plenty of adults take baths," he says. "I didn't start taking showers again until like four months ago."

"Why?" Steve asks without sparing a thought to what kind of answer he might get.

"Showers reminded me of getting sprayed with a hose." Bucky's voice is almost casual, which is probably how he wants it, and Steve immediately feels sick to his stomach. He's always getting his foot in his mouth with Bucky.

"Oh." Steve doesn't know what else to say, but he feels like he should say something.

"Lie down," Bucky orders. "I'll get the water going."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Steve complains. "I'm not an invalid."

"No, you're not," Bucky agrees. "But you're still sick."

"Bucky," Steve starts warningly.

"Steve," Bucky shoots back in the same tone. "Look, you're supposed to milk being sick. Make me your servant. I will be at your beck and call. That's the upside of being sick, right?"

"Yeah, well, the shine wears off after you've been sick ten million times," Steve mutters. "Please let me start the water for my own bath." He's more snippy than pleading. Bucky pulls an exasperated face.

"Fine." He narrows his eyes. "But I'm heating up some soup and you're going to eat it when you're done."

Steve doesn't respond beyond rolling his eyes. And Bucky's friends call _Steve_ bossy?

There is a lot of soup in their fridge. They'd walked in to find it had been completely stocked while they were away, the unmistakable handiwork of Winifred. Bucky wasn't kidding about the gallons of soup.

There's also a new armchair, apparently because George read up on the breathing treatments Steve will have to do and saw that he'll have to be sitting upright, and an air filter to clean impurities and boost the air quality in the apartment.

Steve had sighed when he saw it all, feeling guilty and awkward and a little humiliated. They must feel like they picked a real loser for this contract, but since they're in, they have to keep him alive for the year. It would definitely be cheaper for them to let him die; they wouldn't have to keep paying him, for one, and there must be some kind of scholarship Bucky could get for being a 24-year-old widower.

Steve turns from his morbid thoughts and obediently draws a bath, even though he could totally take a shower now that he's in the bathroom with the door locked. What would Bucky do, break down the door?

Steve remembers Bucky charging into his room and thinks of that metal arm. Yeah, he might actually break down the door.

Steve drowses a bit in the tub. He's not so small that his entire body fits under the water, which is both irritating and kind of gratifying, so he ends up with cold knees, but still. He has to grudgingly admit that the warm water helps ease the aches a little.

But when Steve pulls the plug and shivers as he stands up, he realizes he didn't bring any clean clothes in the bathroom with him. He can't stomach the idea of putting his dirty clothes back on—that hospital smell—and he sighs as he wraps the towel around his waist. Goosebumps raise his skin and he would run to his room if he didn't know for a fact that he can't run.

He shivers his way out of the bathroom, and Bucky, in the kitchen hovering over a pot on the stove and stirring occasionally, spots him.

"You're going to catch another cold!" He calls accusingly, shaking his spoon for emphasis. He has an apron around his waist, and Steve can't help it. He starts cracking up laughing. But, of course, laughing leads to coughing, and coughing leads to Bucky abandoning the stove and running to Steve, who can't deny the fact that his legs are feeling pretty rubbery and weak after three and a half days of lying in a bed.

"Jeez, Steve, come on," Bucky says.

"You just—" Steve wheezes. "Old lady."

"What?" Bucky asks.

"The apron, and the scolding," Steve clarifies, a little more under control now. "You waved a wooden spoon at me like someone's grandma."

"Not _my_ grandma," Bucky says. "She would've _hit_ you with the spoon."

"No!" Steve protests, thinking of everything he's heard about Bucky being close with his grandma.

"Oh, yeah. Whack you on the butt or right across the knuckles when you try to snitch something before dinner."

"Well, she wouldn't have hit me," Steve says confidently. He makes his face pitiful. "I am so frail."

Bucky snorts. "Sure, you're frail when it's convenient."

Steve is suddenly aware of Bucky's warm hand on his back. His bare back. His _skin_. The goosebumps come back. But maybe they never went away. He’s still cold. His mouth goes a little dry. It's been a long time since he was skin to skin with anyone. This is pathetic. Bucky is literally propping him up, and he's losing it.

"Go put some clothes on before you catch your death," Bucky says gruffly, pulling his hand and its warmth away. "You've got soup to eat."

Steve pulls on sweats and a long-sleeved shirt he liberated from Sam when they were roommates. Bucky raises an eyebrow at the USAF emblazoned on the front.

"Air Force," he says, shaking his head. "Bunch of wussies."

"It's warm," Steve defends himself. "And anyway, Sam was para rescue. That's not wussie."

"Well, no," Bucky admits grudgingly. "But he's the only one."

"And Riley. He was para rescue too."

"Okay, fine, those two." Bucky stands beside Steve, staring pointedly, until he lowers himself into a chair at the table.

"Don't you have appointments or something all day?" Steve mutters.

Bucky gives him a dirty look. "I'm not going anywhere the rest of the week, not without you. Natasha ratted you out. She said you'll try to do too much too soon if I don't ride you."

Steve shoots Bucky a look at the phrase _ride you_ , blushing, but Bucky's clueless to the suggestiveness in the words and has gone back to the soup.

"This one's not chicken noodle," Bucky goes on, oblivious to the way Steve's face is on fire. "It's vegetable. There's stew in there, too--that'll probably have to wait until your stomach feels better, because it's a little richer, but that'll help you recover fast."

"When did your mom have time to make all this?" Steve asks. There are three loaves of fresh bread and two different kinds of cookies, too.

"Ma made the soup, but I think Becca made the stew. And Bailey made one batch of the cookies. Aunt Kay made the bread and Ann made the other cookies. And we're definitely going to get more. Hope you like casserole because we're going to have it coming out our ears."

Steve shakes his head. His own mother took food to other families in the neighborhood sometimes, when someone was sick or had a baby or something, but he doesn't remember people bringing them food much. Bringing food every time Steve was in the hospital would've practically been a full-time job when he was a kid.

"Here you go," Bucky says, placing a bowl in front of Steve. He goes back to the stove for his own and sits down next to Steve. "My dad used to tell us this would put hair on our chests."

"I think that ship's sailed," Steve says mournfully. Bucky laughs.

"Yeah, well." He shrugs. "I think waxed is in now anyway."

"There's a difference between waxed and nothing," Steve points out.

"You have hair on your chest," Bucky protests. "It's just really blond."

Steve cocks an eyebrow. He was only shirtless in front of Bucky this one time. Was Bucky looking that closely? Did Bucky _take notice_ of Steve’s chest and chest hair (or lack thereof)? Bucky sees Steve’s look and rolls his eyes.

"I'm observant. Sue me."

"Whatever, Barnes," Steve teases. "My ribs get you going?"

"Shut it," Bucky says mildly.

"Scrawny does it for you, huh? Concave chest, bones sticking out, mmm."

"Maybe," Bucky shrugs nonchalantly, and that shuts Steve right up. He was joking. Surely Bucky isn't saying...

Bucky catches his eye and winks, and Steve immediately goes red and sputters. Bucky laughs, and Steve shakes his head. Bucky was kidding. It was some kind of flirtation chicken or something.

That's good. It would be weird if...anything. Anything like that would be weird. It's better that Bucky was joking. Steve reminds himself of that fact as he watches a smile play on Bucky’s lips, and he goes back to his soup.

  
“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You should go to bed.”

They’d been watching another one of their wedding present movies— _You’ve Got Mail_ —and Steve must have fallen asleep. He didn’t want to fall asleep. As far as he can remember, he’d been enjoying the movie.

“Ugh,” Steve groans. “So far away.”

“I mean, I’d carry you…” Bucky starts.

“ _No_ ,” Steve says.

“Yeah, I figured,” Bucky laughs. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t damage your tough-guy rep at all.”

“I’m a grown man,” Steve says, indignation starting to wake him up a little. “And completely capable of walking sixty feet to my bedroom.”

“Hey, you’re the one who was complaining about it being far,” Bucky points out. “I was just offering a solution.”

“A real solution would be inventing teleportation,” Steve tells him. Bucky snorts.

“Alright,” Bucky says. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Steve responds, hauling himself to his feet with no small amount of effort but minimal groaning about it.

It isn’t until Steve’s brushed his teeth and climbed into his bed that he pauses. His bed feels weird. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t slept in it for five nights. That’s a long time. Maybe his back forgot the way his mattress feels or something.

He stares at the ceiling for a long time, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. That’s nothing new, although it’s worse because he’s so tired still from being sick. He shivers a little. He has a comforter on his bed, even in the summer, but he’s still cold. Maybe Bucky turned up the air conditioning really high. Except Bucky wouldn’t do that, not when Steve’s sick and probably not after Steve’s impassioned speech two weeks ago about the hole in the ozone.

Steve sighs. He wants to roll over, but he’s propped up on so many pillows he’d probably end up suffocating himself. He wiggles around a little, trying to get comfortable, and sighs again when nothing seems to help. His feet are freezing.

Steve stops moving. Oh. Not only has he not slept in his own bed for five nights, but he hasn’t slept _alone_ in five nights. He feels weird because Bucky isn’t here. Steve frowns at himself. He’s slept alone perfectly fine for _years_ before the last five nights with Bucky. It’s ridiculous to act like less than a week was that life-changing.

But the fact remains that Steve can’t sleep. He’s cold. His feet want to be wedged between two warm calves. His waist feels too light without the added weight of an arm around it. He rolls his eyes. It was only five nights! He’s greedy for body heat.

He also feels kind of…lonely. It’s strange; as an only child of a working single mother and as a kid who grew up without many close friends because of his illnesses, short temper, and overdeveloped sense of justice, Steve had grown accustomed to being alone. Sure, he _likes_ having friends around. Living with Sam before he and Riley moved in together had been wonderful, and living with Natasha and Clint had meant an almost-constant level of camaraderie that he’d really loved. But he still considers himself a pretty solitary person. He likes to do his grocery shopping alone, and he likes to draw and paint for a few hours, uninterrupted, every day, but he’s never stopped to think about whether or not he’s lonely.

Okay, so maybe he feels a little blue when he rides the train and sees couples making eyes at each other. Who doesn’t when they’re single? And yeah, sitting by himself in coffee shops isn’t always his favorite thing. But so what? He can focus on drawing. And sure, he gets down sometimes, usually late at night, when he thinks about the fact that he’ll probably never find someone who wants to spend two hours with him, let alone forever, and he’ll probably die alone. But that’s normal for a guy in his mid-twenties, isn’t it?

Oh, God, Steve realizes. He’s _lonely_. He’s really fucking lonely.

And still freezing.

He finds himself wishing Bucky were here. There’s a wall separating them, and Steve hates it. But what’s he going to do, go knock on Bucky’s door and ask him if he wants to have a sleepover? Yeah, right. Not only would that be weird as hell, Steve can’t fathom finding the steam to get out of bed now that he’s here. Plus he's been a big enough burden on Bucky already. Bucky just spent three days in the hospital, probably his least favorite place on earth, just because he felt obligated to keep Steve from being alone.  
  
Steve's stomach hurts. He's absolutely miserable. And he's probably made Bucky miserable.

He tosses and turns. He finally gets out of bed and grabs his sketchbook, flipping through idly. The pieces he did of the lake are pretty good. He caught Natasha and Clint sharing a soft look. He wonders if they're together yet and just not telling anyone. He'd know if he still lived with them. And he wouldn't have realized how sad his life is, probably. He knew his career, or lack thereof, was a wasteland already, but he never realized how lonely he is. Being forced to share a bed clued him in.

He sighs and picks up his pencil. Picture after picture of his friends, paired off. Sam and Riley, Clint and Natasha. Steve's been playing fifth wheel for a long time. He and Peggy almost had something. Talking to her is still great, of course, but what's the point when she's so far away?

He wonders if he should start trying to date or something, and he immediately scoffs at himself. How would he even do that? Go trolling bars, where he can't hear anything and can't breathe in the heavy, smoky air? No way. He can't dance, so clubs are out. He supposes he could try online dating, but he feels like his body would be a bit of a disappointment at the eventual meeting.

He sighs again and finds an empty page. He taps his pencil against the page, wondering what he should draw. He thinks about how his mom used to tell him his attitude was bigger than his body. Maybe if his body matched, he wouldn't be so lonely.

He shakes his head at himself. Wishing and feeling gloomy won't do anything for him. Still, he can't shake the idea that things would be easier if he looked more like Bucky. It's a thought that's plagued him his entire life, watching with jealousy and longing the ease with which bigger guys carried themselves, running carelessly, flirting, charming.

Steve has his friends now, and he loves them dearly, but growing up was hard. His mother was his best friend, and even though he loves her and doesn't regret how close they always were, there was a certain necessity to it.

He could text Natasha, who would text back instantly and never show any amount of fatigue in the morning, or Sam, who would answer in a few minutes and never say a word about the late hour even if the phone wakes Riley, or Clint, who would answer as long as his phone is functioning and turned on and in the same room he is, though the chances of those three conditions being met is low.

But Steve doesn't want to disturb any of them. It's the middle of the day for Peggy; he could text her. But she'd worry about him being awake, especially after being sick, and he hates worrying her. She worries over him enough as it is.

He sketches out a bigger body, a healthy body—muscular, strong, chiseled. _That's Captain America_ , he thinks, a little darkly. _They wouldn't joke about it if I looked like that_. Maybe he would've been braver. Maybe he would've asked Peggy out sooner. Maybe she wouldn't have left. Maybe he wouldn't have missed his shot.

He closes his sketchbook and sets it aside. Enough self-loathing for one night. He curls into a ball and rubs his feet against his sheets, hoping to warm them up. It doesn't work very well, and he stares at the wall separating him and Bucky, willing it to disappear. It doesn't.

Steve sighs yet again and closes his eyes. He needs his rest. He just wishes it would come a little easier.

  
The next morning, he's feeling exhausted and a little grumpy. Last night was ridiculous. He's gone quite a few years being just fine. He can get by on his own.

He's trying to gather the energy to make some oatmeal when Bucky comes out of his room. He's being loud, bumping into the wall and closing doors too hard, and Steve feels his irritation rise. He's just been in the hospital. Would a little peace and quiet be so much to ask?

He catches sight of Bucky's face in the reflection in the window. Bucky looks terrible. His eyes are out of focus and the bags under them are giant. He's pale and shivering.

"Oh no," Steve says. "Did I get you sick?"

Bucky shrugs but doesn't say anything. He shakes his head. Steve raises his eyebrows.

"Want some oatmeal?"

Bucky's mouth twists. He opens it, but then closes it without saying anything. Now Steve's getting worried.

"Does your throat hurt?"

Bucky clenches his teeth. "Rough night," he says, a note of finality in his hoarse voice. He turns on the coffee maker and Steve stops himself from pointing out caffeine won't help Bucky sleep.

"Okay," Steve says instead, watching as Bucky pulls a protein bar out of the cupboard. "Let me know if I can do anything."

Bucky bites his lower lip and nods, dodging Steve's eyes. He pours himself a mug of coffee and turns to leave the kitchen. At the last second, he stops and turns around, and Steve finds himself feeling hopeful. For what? That Bucky will stay and eat breakfast with him and joke and laugh? He looks like hell. Probably not going to happen.

Bucky reaches into the cupboard and gets down a bowl, setting it in front of Steve.

"Thanks," Steve says, surprised. It's not that he can't reach the bowls—he can. He has to stretch just a little, but he can reach. But they did seem far out of reach this morning, tired as he is. Bucky just nods, and then he goes back to his room.

This time he closes his door gently, and Steve almost wishes he slammed it.

  
Four hours later, Steve's being a model patient and sitting in the new armchair for his nebulizer breathing treatment. It's not exactly a new experience, but he still hates it. He has to sit there in a cloud of medicine. It reminds him of being a kid, stuck inside at home with a particularly bad asthma attack while his whole class took a field trip to the zoo without him.

Bucky comes out of his room. Steve wants to give him whatever space he needs, but he's not sure how he's supposed to do that. He could go do this in his room, but he's already started. He's trapped here for four more minutes.

"Sorry," Bucky mumbles. "For earlier."

"No," Steve says quickly. "No problem."

Bucky doesn't say anything for a minute, rubbing the back of his neck. "Haven't had one like that in a while."

"Was it being at the hospital the last few nights?" Steve asks, worried and regretful. It's not bad enough that he has bad experiences with hospitals; now he has to add to Bucky's?

Bucky shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "Maybe I was just...due."

"You seem better," Steve ventures.

"I'm fine now," Bucky agrees. Steve frowns a little. Bucky doesn't really look fine. He's still pale, and he keeps zoning out before shaking himself and regaining focus.

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. Bucky's jaw clenches and Steve winces. If he could, he'd snatch those words out of the air and stuff them back in his mouth. How many times has he snapped at someone for second-guessing him? He can't seem to stop doing it to Bucky.

"I'm fine," Bucky repeats, firmer this time.

"Okay," Steve says with a nod.

There's an uncomfortable pause for a minute. Steve wracks his brain with how to break it.

"Have you ever seen an astronaut return to earth and try to readjust to gravity?" He blurts out. Bucky blinks a few times.

"Uh...yeah, actually, I have," he admits. "I was kinda...into space. As a kid."

"Me too," Steve says. He gestures at the TV. "It's a special about the first lunar landing."

Bucky's eyes brighten a bit. "The NOVA one from the 90s?" He asks.

"Yeah." Steve nods. "I've actually seen it a few times."

Bucky huffs a laugh. "My mom threatened to hide the VHS from me."

Steve laughs. "We didn't have it, but I got it from the library like every other week."

Bucky sits down at the other end of the couch. "I used to want to be an astronaut."

"You chose the Army instead," Steve realizes. "Why?"

Bucky gives him a wry little smile. "Barnes men do their time in the Army. 'S what you do before college or picking your career. Just the way it is."

"Your parents made you?" Steve asks, horrified. He can't imagine his mother pushing him into anything, let alone military service. His mom had some pretty strong ideas about the military industrial complex.

Bucky shakes his head. "They didn't make me," he says softly. "My dad didn't want me to, actually." He shrugs. "But he did, and my grandpa did, and all my uncles did...how could I not?" He gives Steve another twisted little smile. "Guess maybe I shoulda stuck to space, huh? Earth didn't really treat me so well."

Steve's mad. He's _mad_. He's mad that Bucky thought he was doing something noble and was just being used by a system that still isn't equipped to help him. He's angry that Bucky got hurt. And he's livid that he can't do anything to make the people responsible pay.

He clenches his fists, anger wanting to spill out, but Bucky looks soft and sad and Steve deflates a little. Steve being furious doesn't help Bucky at all.

"We could start this over," he suggests. "It didn't start very long ago."

Bucky smiles over at him. "Okay," he says. "Let's watch."

Steve's anger won't do anything for Bucky, but maybe his acceptance can.

  
Steve jerks awake when the door buzzes. He must've fallen asleep. And then the pillow under him moves and he realizes he fell asleep on Bucky's shoulder. He's a little fuzzy on the details of Bucky scooting closer—or maybe Steve was the one who moved?—but obviously it happened.

"It's just the door," Bucky murmurs, awake and alert instantly even though he'd been asleep too. "I'll get it."

Steve's mouth is dry and he coughs to clear his chest and throat while Bucky gets up.

"Yeah?" Bucky says into the intercom, voice raspy with sleep.

"Bucky, it's me," a voice replies. It's a girl. Steve thinks it's one of Bucky's sisters, but he doesn't really know them well enough to know which one. She sounds upset.

"Bay?" Bucky asks, frowning. "Come on up."

He rubs a hand down his face and smoothes down his hair after he pushes the button to let her in. When he opens the door for her, Steve can hear her crying.

"Bailey, what is it?" Bucky asks, concerned. He reaches out and puts an arm around her.

"I got in a big fight with Ma," Bailey sobs. "I had to get away."

"Okay, hey, come on." Bucky pulls her inside and closes the door. Steve sits up and gives Bucky a questioning look. He shrugs in return, ushering Bailey to the couch.

"What happened?" He asks, sitting beside her.

Bailey swipes at the tears on her cheeks. "All I wanted to do was go to this party tonight and Ma freaked. And I'm so tired of her acting like I'm so terrible for wanting to have friends! And we were just yelling and I—I said I—" she breaks off, crying again, and Bucky shakes his head a little, drawing her in and letting her cry on his shoulder.

"It's alright," he assures her. "We'll figure it out."

He looks more alert, more sure of himself, and Steve can't help but notice the difference from even an hour ago, when Bucky was wan and self-conscious. He springs into action in a crisis, Steve thinks. He needs action to keep him out of his head.

"I told her I hate her and I can't wait to leave," Bailey admits when she's calm enough to talk again. She sniffles and Steve grabs the tissue box on the coffee table and hands it to her. He's been planting tissue boxes around the apartment.

"Oh, Bay," Bucky breathes. "Wow."

"I know." Bailey looks at her hands.

"She knows you don't, though," Bucky adds. "Really. She knows you were just upset."

Bailey shrugs. "I still said it."

"Yeah."

Steve doesn't know if he should leave the room. This seems to be a sibling conversation, not one for outsiders, but he doesn't know if it's more awkward for him to sit there or to get up and leave.

"Can I stay here?" Bailey asks. "Can I spend the night?"

Bucky hesitates and half-glances at Steve. "Well—"

"Of course you can," Steve cuts him off. He can tell Bucky's going to turn her down because he thinks it'll make Steve uncomfortable, but everything from Bucky's arm around Bailey's shoulders to his eyes say he wants to agree.

"But we gotta tell Ma you're here," Bucky adds. "She's gonna be worried if you just stormed out after a big blow-up."

Bailey nods. "I don't want to talk to her."

"I'll tell her," Bucky reassures her. "Why don't you go wash your face or something, huh? Get your snot outta here."

She laughs shakily and disappears down the hall. Bucky turns to Steve.

"Are you sure that's alright?" He asks quietly. "She'll uh...she'll expect to sleep in the guest room."

Steve didn't think about that. Or maybe, without realizing it, he did, and it was some kind of master plan of his subconscious so he wouldn't have to sleep alone again. Bucky's probably less than thrilled about that.

"Sorry," Steve says. "I didn't even think of that. I just thought...she seemed so upset, and I thought you wanted her to stay..." He shrugs. "I can sleep out here if you want. Wouldn't be that hard to say I need to sleep upright or something."

" _Do_ you need to?" Bucky asks. "Sleep upright?"

"I mean, it wouldn't hurt," Steve evades. Bucky gives him a look.

"I'm fine sharing a bed," he says. "Especially since you just got out of the hospital and should be sleeping in a bed."

Steve can't help the little leap in his stomach. He doesn't have to be alone again tonight. Bucky will be there. And he'll be warm, and he'll take care of Steve's feet.

Steve shrugs, hoping his voice sounds nonchalant. "Sharing's fine."

"Fine," Bucky says.

"Fine," Steve agrees. Then he remembers the state of his bedroom. "Uh, maybe you distract her and I'll clean a little."

Bucky shakes his head. "I'll clean it."

" _You'll_ clean _my_ room?" Steve says incredulously. "No way."

"What, you got dirty pictures of me stashed in there?" Bucky teases. Steve flushes a little. He doesn't have any _dirty_ pictures, but he does have a few drawings of Bucky. He doubts Bucky would care, but it still makes him feel awkward.

"How are we going to explain all my stuff being in there?" Steve asks, easing off the couch. At the very least, he should put clean sheets on the bed, pick up the laundry off the floor, and throw away the snotty tissues wadded up.

Bucky shrugs. "Ah, well, see, this is the part where being crazy comes in handy."

"You're not crazy," Steve protests automatically. Bucky rolls his eyes, but he's smiling a little.

"We can just say I got weird about having a lot of stuff in the room."

"Why would you get weird about that?" Steve asks. Bucky's particular about some things, and usually if Steve thinks about it he can see the logic, such as it is, behind it, but he can't see a link between anything that happened to Bucky and not wanting a cluttered closet.

Bucky smiles again, but it's an ugly smile. As ugly as Bucky can look, anyway, which is still annoyingly attractive. "People don't tend to ask too many questions when I say something bothers me," he confides.

"Not even your family?"

Bucky looks a little sad. "Especially my family. They just...don't want to upset me. They're careful with me."

Steve nods. It makes sense. He's saved from saying anything by Bailey coming out of the bathroom.

"Let me put some sheets on the bed," Steve tells her, only opening the door a crack and slipping inside so she won't see how messy it is.

He strips the bed as fast as possible, which isn't very fast thanks to being two days out of the hospital with pneumonia. He balls them up and kicks his shoes into the closet, stashes his pictures hanging on the walls under the bed, and gathers up his meds, his sketchbook, and all the gross trash he's left lying around.

Bucky comes in with clean sheets and stares at the load Steve's carrying. "Sheesh," he says. "Looks like you've been living in here." He cracks a grin at his own joke and Steve gives him a dirty look.

Bucky laughs and moves forward to put the sheets on the bed. "Bailey's watching TV," he says. "If you tiptoe you can probably get to the laundry room without her noticing."

"I'm very sneaky," Steve promises drily. He doesn't get away without her noticing, but she just smiles at him. Maybe she thinks he's just a really great host who wants to put clean sheets on regardless of the last time anyone slept on them. Steve's never been that kind of host before, mostly because he's never had people stay over.

He hesitates by Bucky's door. He needs to go in to put his meds and sketchbook in there. But it's Bucky's room. He doesn't want to overstep any boundaries.

"You forgot your glasses." Bucky's voice makes Steve jump. Bucky reaches past Steve to open the door, raising an eyebrow. "Worried it'll bite?"

Steve doesn’t answer, just follows Bucky inside. The room is immaculate. The bed is made tightly, the closet doors are closed, and the only things that could be considered clutter are the neat stacks of books on the desk.

"Wow," Steve can't help but say. "You're really clean." Beth had mentioned that, but still. This is _clean_.

"You're not?" Bucky asks, sounding apprehensive. Steve shrugs instead of answering. He is not. It's probably a product of being an only child; he's always had his own room, so it never mattered if he was a slob. His mom didn't love it, but she let him keep his room however he wanted.

"I'm clean in common spaces," Steve defends himself. Bucky opens his mouth, then changes his mind and just shakes his head.

"Did you tell your mom?" Steve asks. Bucky winces a little.

"Yeah. She was...upset." He sounds a little evasive. "But she's glad Bailey came here. She's got some not-so-great friends my parents are worried about."

Steve thinks about that while they start dinner—Bailey looks so sweet and polite. She's been a bit sullen, sure, but Steve's not terribly familiar with teenage girls and thinks maybe that's normal. He's not super familiar with teenage boys, either, come to think of it. He was one, obviously, but he never went through any sort of rebellious phase. His mom was radical enough that a rebellious phase would include voting Republican, and it's not like Steve would ever do that anyway.

Steve opens the oven door to check the lasagna that's reheating while Bucky makes salad.

"This is a totally grownup dinner," Bucky boasts. "Look at us."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, real grownup. Your mom made this and left it in our fridge."

Bucky waves a hand. "Details."

Bailey comes in the kitchen and sits at the bar. "Need help?" She asks.

"Nah, we're almost done," Bucky tells her. "You want something to drink?"

"Can I have a beer?" She asks. Bucky drops the salad tongs he's been fighting with for a minute.

"What?" He says. "Bay, you're eighteen."

Bailey rolls her eyes. "Like you weren't drinking at my age?"

"Uh, yeah, sometimes at parties, not casually asking for a beer with dinner!" Bucky's face is red. "Who the hell are your friends?"

"Oh, God, you sound like Ma," Bailey accuses. "Everything bad must be from these hooligans I hang out with, right?"

"Well, I know you, and you wouldn't—"

"Don't tell me what I'd do!" Bailey cuts in angrily.

"Hey," Steve ventures. "Why don't we...not talk about this right now. Let's just eat? Bailey, we have juice or water. Or almond milk, but you probably don't want to drink that."

"Neither of us drink, kid," Bucky points out. Steve gives him a look. He's heard Bucky call Bailey and Beth _kid_ plenty of times, but he's not sure now is the time for that particular nickname.

"I'll have juice," Bailey says, stilted.

"Coming right up," Bucky replies, just as stiff.

Steve doesn't really think about what he's doing. He just sees the tight line of Bucky's shoulders as he pours Bailey's juice and reacts. He puts his arm around Bucky's shoulders for a minute and squeezes a little.

Then he freezes, worried he completely overstepped. He and Bucky are miles away from their awkward beginning, and sharing a bed has made them both a lot more comfortable with casual touches, but this was a little bigger than their hands brushing as they walk down the stairs.

Bucky gets a soft, fond smile on his face and leans over to press a kiss to Steve's cheek. Steve can't help how wide his eyes go. That was unexpected, to say the least, but he smiles a little despite himself.

Then Bucky's eyes dart over to Bailey. Oh. Right. They're on. She thinks they're besotted with each other. He can't tell what this uncomfortable feeling in his stomach is. He ignores it to smile back for real at Bucky.

Steve tries to make conversation during dinner, but Bucky and Bailey are giving each other dark looks and eventually he gives up. Bucky frowns apologetically and grabs Steve's hand to give it a little squeeze. Steve's stomach lurches with that weird discomfort again.

Bailey quietly starts doing the dishes while Steve and Bucky wrap up the leftovers and put them in the fridge.

"Was that too much food?" Bucky asks Steve. "You haven't really eaten anything in like a week. Plus you’ve got all those ulcers or whatever."

Steve shrugs. "I feel alright. Guess we'll find out later."

"If you puke on me, we're through," Bucky teases. Steve snorts.

"If I puke on you, you'll probably puke on me back."

"I do not puke easily," Bucky protests.

"You'd do it out of sheer spite," Steve says. Bucky laughs.

"I think you're thinking of yourself. You're the tiny ball of concentrated anger."

"Indignation," Steve corrects loftily. "All my anger is righteous."

Bucky laughs again, that carefree happy sound that makes Steve grin. He wonders how many people can say they've made Bucky throw his head back and laugh since he's been home. Probably not many.

Steve glances over and sees Bailey watching them. She's smiling a little, and Steve suddenly feels kind of self-conscious. He hasn't put much thought into how their dynamic looks to anyone else. She shakes her head when she notices Steve caught her looking.

"You guys are cute," she says softly, a peace offering. Bucky smiles at her and slides an arm around Steve's waist, cool metal making Steve shiver a little.

"We try," Bucky jokes. Steve doesn't know what to do with his hands. Usually if someone put their arm around him, he'd reciprocate or shake them off, depending on the situation. But how does he reciprocate? This isn’t actually something that happens often. He ends up resting his palm on Bucky's back, between his shoulder blades. The muscles there are hard and tense.

"Whoa," he says involuntarily, both at how ripped Bucky is and at how tight his shoulders are. Bailey and Bucky look at him questioningly. "Oh. Uh. You need a massage."

Bailey makes a face. "Um, gross? I'm standing right here."

Bucky rolls his eyes at her. "I'm fine," he tells Steve.

"Buck, I can feel your back," Steve protests. "You're so tense."

Bucky leers, but then he stops when he remembers his little sister is in the room. Steve laughs at him a little.

"Should we watch a movie?" Bucky suggests, changing the subject. "Steve's gotta do his nebulizer again."

Steve glowers. "Did you memorize the directions on my prescription?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, unabashed.

"You're the worst," Bailey commiserates with Steve. "You're seriously so crazy about people being sick."

Bucky shrugs. "Just want you to get better."

It makes a warm feeling spread through Steve's chest that lasts through his breathing treatment. He falls asleep on Bucky again during some natural disaster movie he thinks he might’ve seen in theaters when he was in high school.

"Come on, Stevie," Bucky murmurs, hand warm on Steve's shoulder. "Let's go to bed."

"Goodnight," Bailey says, slipping into Steve's room.

Steve's wide awake again once he realizes he didn't bring any pajamas with him. He usually just sleeps in boxers, but with Bucky...

"Oh, here," Bucky says, noticing Steve's plight and tossing him a faded Army t-shirt.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles, feeling a little awkward and shy now. Bucky goes into the bathroom, and Steve waits his turn to brush his teeth and take out his contacts. When he gets back, Bucky's in his boxers and a t-shirt, already lying in bed.

Steve steels himself a little. This is silly. It's no big deal. They did it for five nights in a row. He pulls up the blankets on the other side of the bed, the side Bucky's piled about two hundred pillows on so Steve can prop himself up, and climbs in.

Bucky fits himself to Steve's back, winding an arm around his waist and covering Steve's toes. Steve sighs a little. It just feels so nice.

"Night," Bucky murmurs into Steve's shoulder.

"Night," Steve echoes, and he quickly drops off into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be on the lookout for a subtle dick joke I made. I'm kind of proud of it. On a more serious note: warning in this chapter for a homophobic slur and some very slight self-harm.

Steve wakes up alone, which isn’t surprising at first because he’s pretty used to that. He’s not entirely used to the smell of Bucky all around him, and then he blinks in confusion when he remembers he didn’t go to sleep alone. He stretches and yawns and wonders where Bucky went.

He hears voices in the living room and decides he should get out of bed. Then he remembers he isn’t wearing pants and pauses. He wouldn’t be embarrassed to go out in his boxers if it was just Bucky, or even if it was one of his friends or Bucky’s friends. But that’s Bucky’s little sister out there, and she’s just a kid.

She’s also a _girl_ , and Steve’s always been extra awkward around girls, even girls he has no romantic interest in. It took a while for him to relax around Natasha. But Steve’s jeans seem to have disappeared off the floor, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s a little hungry, for the first time in over a week, and he also has a pressing bladder issue to attend to.

He tentatively opens the closet, thinking maybe Bucky put them in there for some reason. No sign of Steve’s jeans, just neat rows of Bucky’s shoes—and there are a lot of them, wow—and clothes hanging up. Some of the clothes are even protected in garment bags. Bucky is so much cleaner than Steve.

Frowning in confusion, Steve goes to the dresser and opens the top drawer. Underwear and socks. The next drawer is t-shirts, then jeans, and finally, in the bottom drawer, are sweatpants and basketball shorts.

Steve huffs. Where did his pants go? Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Is Ashton Kutcher going to jump out and tell him he’s being punked? Bucky would totally sign him up for that. But Steve needs to pee, and he can’t hold it much longer. He’s not even going to risk his dignity by putting on Bucky’s jeans, so he grabs a pair of sweats with a drawstring at the waist. He’s still swimming in them, but at least they’re not going to fall off his skinny ass.

He goes straight to the bathroom before he bursts, and as he’s coming back down the hall to the kitchen, he hears his name.

“—Steve sick, because he’s still getting better, and I don’t want him back in the hospital,” Bucky’s saying.

“I won’t get Steve sick.” Bailey sounds like she’s rolling her eyes. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“You think that, but you might not be,” Bucky argues. “Maybe we should start wearing masks.”

“Masks?” Bailey repeats incredulously. “Why would _we_ wear masks instead of _him_?”

“Because I don’t want him to feel weird.” Bucky says this like it’s perfectly logical. Steve rubs his eyes. It’s too early to deal with this.

“You don’t think he’d feel weird if you made everyone around him wear a mask?” Bailey points out.

Steve puts an end to the conversation by walking out of the hallway. Bailey, at least, has the sense to look a little guilty. Bucky does not.

“Do not start wearing masks,” Steve warns before Bucky can say anything. Bailey snorts. Bucky holds up his hands defensively.

“It was just an idea.”

“I’ve made it this far without going into quarantine, okay?” Steve says.

“Fine,” Bucky sighs. “Eat some breakfast.”

Steve frowns at him. “Don’t—”

“Tell me what to do,” Bucky mimics before Steve even finishes the sentence. He raises an eyebrow. “You were coming in here to eat breakfast anyway.”

“You’re chipper this morning,” Steve mutters. Bailey laughs.

“He’s always like this in the morning! Do you sleep in late so you don’t notice?”

Steve shoots Bucky a look. He has seen Bucky a few times in the mornings, and he has never been like this. Bucky’s eyes slip away and Steve lets it drop.

“Can we eat now?” Bailey asks, oblivious to what just happened between them. “I could eat a horse.”

“You could have eaten,” Bucky says, putting a pan on the stove.

“You said we had to wait for Steve!” Bailey protests.

“I did not!” Bucky shoots back, grabbing bread and eggs and going red around the ears. Bailey gives the kind of exasperated scoff only teenagers seem to be able to pull off and puts her hands on her hips.

“Well, at least you’re making French toast,” she reasons. Steve feels a little pink in the cheeks himself. Bucky was waiting on him? He glances at the clock. It’s past nine. How long was Bucky going to wait? Steve has no idea when Bucky got up, but he’s already showered and that probably means he went for his run. He must be starving.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Steve says.

“We weren’t,” Bucky assures him. He glances down at Steve’s feet, where the sweats are pooling a little bit, and smirks, and Steve suddenly realizes he's wearing Bucky's sweats and Bucky's Army shirt.

“I, uh, couldn’t find my jeans,” Steve mumbles, blushing hard now.

“Shit, sorry,” Bucky apologizes. “I started some laundry and they were on the floor so I thought you wanted them washed. They’re in the dryer.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve’s not sure if it’s a passive-aggressive jab to him leaving his jeans on the floor or if in Bucky’s world jeans on the ground really are meant for the wash, but whatever. He gets clean jeans out of it.

He also gets French toast. Living with Bucky comes with more and more perks all the time.

  
Bailey heads out in the afternoon. She frowns when Bucky asks where she’s going and who she’ll be with, but she won’t answer, and she leaves Bucky a nervous mess after she’s closed the door.

“I don’t know where she’s going,” he frets. “What if she gets into trouble?”

“She’ll call you,” Steve says confidently, a little annoyed at Bailey for worrying Bucky like this.

“Maybe,” Bucky mutters, whipping out his phone, probably to text his mother.

“She will,” Steve presses. “Look where she came when she was upset and needed to get away. She knows you’ll be there for her.”

Bucky sags a little. “Except I freaked out at her last night over the beer thing.”

“I mean, it _was_ kind of weird,” Steve assures him. “I think she just wanted to see if you’d let her get away with it.” That's the kind of thing teenagers do on TV.

“She’s just a kid,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I still remember when she was _born_.”  
  
“But you _were_ drinking when you were eighteen,” Steve points out.

“It’s different,” Bucky insists.

“Why, because she’s a girl?” Steve asks, ready to puff up. Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

“I don’t know, maybe. Probably, without me feeling that way on purpose.” He makes a face at Steve’s surprised look. “I sat through your whole rant about male privilege and paternalism, Steve, and you’re not the only person who’s ever read a women’s study book, you know.”

Steve snaps his mouth closed. Now he doesn’t really know what to say. He thinks eighteen is a bit young to be cracking a drink with dinner, but he’s never been able to drink, so he’s not sure if that’s normal. Bucky’s family seems kind of conservative, albeit supportive, so he can’t tell if the Barnes are overreacting.

“Anyway, I think it’s mostly because she’s my little sister,” Bucky goes on, a little softer now. “I’m supposed to take care of her, you know? Make sure nothing bad happens to her.”

Steve watches the way Bucky’s head tips down, the frown that sneaks over his face, and he shakes his head a little, thinking of the way Bucky spent three days in the hospital despite it dredging up horrible memories just so Steve wouldn’t be alone.

“You don’t have to take care of everyone, you know,” Steve says. “You need to take care of yourself, first.”

Somewhere in the distance, Sam is crying with laughter at the irony of Steve saying that to someone else. Steve still has a notecard Sam made him tape to his mirror when he was dealing with his mother’s death. In Sam’s messy scrawl, it reads _Don't spend so much time trying not to bleed on other people that you just end up bleeding out._  
Sam’s not here, though, so Steve can think _do as I say, not as I do_ and give advice he’s heard a million times.

But Bucky, of course, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Steve. Are you the pot or the kettle here?”

Steve scoffs. “I don’t take care of anyone else.”

But gives a big, dramatic laugh while Steve just glares. “Half the reason you’re here right now is because you can’t turn down a charity case.”

“That’s not true!” Steve objects.

“Yes it is,” Bucky says softly. “I get it. It’s fine. You’re a good person, you feel bad, yadda yadda. I’m not mad.”

“I’m here because I like you,” Steve blurts out. Bucky looks surprised, and a little smile takes over his face. So Steve has to ruin it by adding, “And because your parents are paying me.”

Bucky huffs and throws an arm around Steve’s neck to drag him in for a noogie. Steve squawks and twists away. Bucky lets him go easily, laughing until his left arm gives a weird jerk.  
  
“Whoa,” Steve says. “What was that?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Sometimes it malfunctions a little. Prototypes, you know?”

“Maybe someday they’ll make bionic lungs,” Steve muses as he pulls out his nebulizer.

“Pretty sure that’s called an Iron Lung and people didn’t enjoy it very much,” Bucky points out. Steve laughs.

“Okay, but you know what I mean. I’d pretty much need my whole body replaced.” Steve can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he covers it with a self-deprecating smile and adds, “But hey, maybe I’d look cooler.”

Bucky frowns at him. “You look cool enough now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. My hearing aid and glasses and the inhaler sticking out of my pocket are the epitome of cool.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

Steve flushes a little. Here’s Bucky, with the perfect cheekbones and amazing blue eyes and body like some kind of wet dream, saying he doesn’t see anything wrong with Steve. It’s not like Bucky’s the first person to say something like that; Sam regularly tells Steve he’s cute, and Natasha always wants to set Steve up on dates because, she says, it would be criminal to keep him a secret from the world, but for some reason it’s different coming from Bucky.

Maybe it’s because Bucky hasn’t known him for years. It certainly can’t just be that Bucky’s attractive—all of Steve’s friends are ridiculously hot. Bucky’s words aren’t even all that complimentary. But for some reason Steve’s blushing and he feels confusingly tongue-tied.

He doesn’t know what to say, but Bucky doesn’t seem to need an answer. They turn back to the TV, but Steve can’t help but steal secret, thoughtful glances at Bucky from the corner of his eye for the rest of the afternoon.

  
It’s eleven, and Steve and Bucky are still in the living room in front of the TV. Steve lost the plot of whatever TV-movie they’re watching an hour ago, too tired to focus, but he doesn’t want to go to bed.

The problem is he has no excuse not to go to bed alone, and he doesn’t want to.

Fine, he can admit to himself he’s lonely now that he’s realized it. He can admit he’s a bit touch-starved, and maybe snuggling up with someone isn’t terrible. Bucky doesn’t always make him the little spoon, which is nice.

But Steve doesn’t know if he can just open his mouth and say, “Hey, want to share a bed tonight?” It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you just ask someone, not someone you aren’t having sex with or at least are in some kind of relationship with.

Well, they _are_ in some kind of relationship, he reasons with himself. Technically, they are married. He darts a glance at Bucky from the corner of his eye. Bucky’s slumped over, head resting on his palm, elbow up on the arm of the couch. He looks bored and tired and a little grumpy and Steve wilts a little. Bucky doesn’t want Steve bugging him.

Bucky glances over and catches Steve staring. “You going to bed?” He asks, tone flat. Steve holds in a sigh and nods.

“I’m pretty tired,” he says, just to have something to say. Bucky nods.

“Me too,” he agrees. He grabs the remote and clicks off the TV.

Neither of them move. Bucky takes a deep breath and Steve looks at him expectantly, hopefully, but then Bucky exhales and closes his mouth. The room is dark and quiet. After another minute, Steve gathers up what’s left of his dignity and stands up. He’s not going to wait around like some puppy hoping for a treat.

“Well,” he says with a shrug. Bucky nods at him, leaning down to pick up his water glass. Steve feels a little more disappointed than is strictly appropriate. He just doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He’s so tired of it. Maybe he really does need to start dating again.

It’s hard to fall asleep, cold and alone, but eventually he must, because the next thing Steve knows, he’s waking up to a thud from the living room, and then a loud crash. He blinks confusedly and sits up quickly, groping for his glasses. He can hear someone murmuring in a low voice and walking around. Are they being robbed? He slips out of bed and looks around for something to arm himself with. The only thing remotely appropriate is an umbrella Natasha left. It has ducklings splashing in puddles on it. Formidable.

Armed as well as possible, heart pounding painfully, he throws his door open and bursts into the living room to find…Bucky.

Steve’s about to crossly tell Bucky exactly how he feels about his nighttime prowling when Bucky swings his head around and stares at Steve. His face is completely blank, even though he’s looking at Steve, clad in boxers and thick fuzzy socks, holding an umbrella covered in baby ducks.

Bucky says something Steve doesn’t understand. He can’t tell if it’s a different language or just because Steve doesn’t have his hearing aid in and Bucky’s not on his good side. Bucky’s voice is flat, emotionless. He starts moving closer to Steve, his movements fluid with a grace that reminds Steve of the panthers he used to watch and draw at the zoo.

“Bucky?” He asks tentatively.

Bucky pauses, brow furrowed. Steve doesn’t know if he should step forward, closer to Bucky, or back, away from him, but since he’s never been one to back down from a fight, he steps forward.

“Bucky,” he repeats, more sure of himself this time but still soft, trying to sound soothing. Bucky’s whole body twitches, like one of those full-body shivers that come over Steve sometimes.

“No,” he says, voice harsh, eyes trained on the umbrella Steve’s brandishing. Steve drops it quickly and holds his hands up, showing Bucky they’re empty. Bucky’s still staring at the umbrella, the little yellow ducks garish in the situation, and he hunches in on himself. He starts pinching at his right hand with his left, the metal leaving angry red marks on his skin.

“Bucky, stop,” Steve says, wanting to grab his hand. The skin is already bruised, and Steve suddenly wonders if Bucky does this often. He’s never noticed. “Bucky!” He says louder, firmer, and this time Bucky sucks in a deep breath as recognition floods his face.

“Oh, God, Steve,” he says, voice trembling. “I have to go. I can’t stay here with you.”

“Wha—Bucky, what are you talking about?” Steve asks.

“I’m dangerous!” Bucky insists. He glances at his wrist, angry red marks in the shape of his fingers already blooming into bruises, and doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. “I could hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” Steve points out, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu after what happened the first night at the lake. “Bucky, please.”

“Where can I even go?” Bucky stresses, talking mostly to himself. “Can’t go home. Jesus, what if the kids are over and I lose it?”

“Bucky, you’re not going anywhere,” Steve says firmly. “Except to bed.”

“I can’t fall asleep again,” Bucky argues, incredulous. “Who knows what I’ll do.”

“What if I go with you?” Steve suggests. “Nothing happened while we were sharing a bed all those times.”

Bucky jerks away. “Are you fucking kidding me? We were in different rooms and I still found you. I only got myself this time but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you next time. You gotta stay away from me.”

Steve purses his lips. He hates that Bucky thinks he’s so dangerous, but on the other hand…he can’t deny his heart is still pounding shakily from the blank look in Bucky’s eyes, the way he moved forward full of purpose and looking kind of lethal.

“I’m going to Dugan’s,” Bucky mutters, shoving a hand through his hair. “He can…he might be able to stop me if something happens.”

“Don’t,” Steve protests. “Bucky, come on, it’s okay.”

Bucky shakes his head, already turning away to go back to his room. “It’s not okay.”

He emerges a minute later in a hoodie, shoes on, and avoids Steve’s eyes as he goes to the door. He pauses after he gets the door open, back still to Steve, and Steve thinks maybe he’s going to change his mind. Bucky’s shoulders slump.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says, and he closes the door quietly behind him.

  
Steve stews all night long. He doesn’t get much sleep, and this time it’s not because his stomach is aching with loneliness. He actually thinks he’d prefer the loneliness. Instead, he can’t stop thinking about Bucky’s eyes with absolutely nothing behind them. Bucky goes expressionless sometimes even when he’s awake and aware, but this was different. It was scary, and not just because he started hurting himself.

Where did Bucky think he was? The answer is pretty obvious, and it makes Steve feel sick to his stomach. Bucky thought he was back in that POW camp, being held hostage and hurt and experimented on. He thought Steve was going to hit him.

Steve tosses and turns. He just can’t get the absolute terror in Bucky’s eyes out of his mind. It makes him angry. He’d gotten angry before and tramped it down for Bucky’s sake, but Bucky isn’t here right now, so Steve lets himself rage.

How could someone do those things to another person? And could they do them to _Bucky_? Bucky, who’s polite and sweet to his mother and sisters and wants his friends to have a good time and wants to take care of Steve? Bucky, who, according to one of Dugan’s stories last week, spent an entire afternoon in the desert talking down a new kid from a homesick meltdown?

Steve sits up. He can’t just lie there anymore. He needs to do something, _anything_ , to feel like he’s helping. The problem is he doesn’t know what he could possibly do that would help Bucky in any way. So he does what he always does in times of uncertainty—he picks up his pencil and his sketchpad and he draws.

He wants Bucky to see himself how Steve sees him, a good man with a good heart who’s doing his best to pick up the pieces after life dealt him a shitty hand. The shittiest hand possible, maybe. So Steve draws Bucky; Bucky laughing, Bucky smiling, Bucky holding Ella in one arm and Jamie in the other, Bucky making French toast, Bucky when he first wakes up all soft and rumpled and sleep worn…

Steve blinks. Well, that went a little off his planned subject matter for a minute, but it does show a tenderness Bucky generally keeps a bit more guarded, so Steve shrugs and goes back to shading Bucky’s stubble.

By the time the sun is staring to peek up over the horizon, Steve’s furious drawing fever has broken a bit and he feels good enough to lie back against his pillows. He thinks briefly of how annoyed Bucky would be by the fact that Steve’s been up all night when he’s still recovering from pneumonia before he finally falls asleep.

  
Bucky’s not back the next morning when Steve wakes up. Well, it’s almost afternoon, truth be told. Steve’s a little annoyed by that, even though he feels guilty being annoyed at Bucky for anything right now. It mixes with his annoyance and boredom with being sick, and Steve makes a decision: he’s going outside.

It’s not exactly a good decision. In fact, it’s a pretty bad decision, and as if he possesses some kind of sensor for Steve’s bad decision-making, Sam texts Steve right as he’s walking out the door.

_How are you feeling?_

Steve pauses. Sam knows him well enough that he’s got to play this cool—if he’s too enthusiastic about feeling fine, Sam will think he’s lying, and if he says he’s feeling awful, Sam will know he’s overcompensating for something because Steve would never admit he's feeling awful.

_I’m fine_ , Steve says, which he knows will make Sam roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation. That’s Sam’s least favorite response, and the one Steve gives the most.

_Uh-huh_ , Sam replies, and Steve can practically hear how dry his voice is. _But really?_

_Really_ , Steve insists. _I’m fine. I feel fine._ He hesitates a little. Sam already has some qualms about Bucky; should Steve really add to that by telling him what happened? He dismisses his doubts almost as soon as he thinks them. This is Sam.

_Bucky had a hard night last night_ , Steve tells him. _He went to Dugan’s_.

_What happened?_ Sam asks immediately. _Did he hurt you?_

_NO_ , Steve sends back, jabbing at his phone angrily. No wonder Bucky thinks he’s dangerous; everyone else seems to, as well. _He sorta hurt himself_.

_Shit_ , Sam says.

_Not bad_ , Steve reassures him as he locks the door behind him. _But we were both pretty freaked out._

_I can imagine_ , Sam sympathizes. _He okay now?_

_I don’t really know_ , Steve admits, pausing on the stairs so he doesn’t have to worry about the steps and texting at the same time when he’s not even completely sure how well his legs are going to hold him up. _He hasn’t come back yet._

_That’s tough man. He’s probably a little embarrassed._

Steve frowns at that. Bucky has no reason to be embarrassed, least of all in front of Steve. He was in the room while Steve used a bedpan in the hospital, for crying out loud. Doesn’t get much more humiliating than that.

_He was worried he WOULD hurt me_ , Steve confides. _He went to Dugan’s because he said Dugan might be able to stop him if he lost it._

Sam types for a long time, long enough for Steve to make his way cautiously down the stairs and onto the street. _He might be right_ , Sam finally says, and Steve gets the sense that all that typing was Sam erasing a few different messages before going with that one.

Steve’s mind flashes back to the way Bucky stared at that umbrella, the frantic way he picked at his own skin, and he has to close his eyes for a second. _I don’t think so_ , he says, and then he locks his phone and puts it in his pocket. He wanders around aimlessly for a while, no destination in mind, and ends up in the park.

He finds a bench to sit on and thinks that definitely counts as taking care of himself and Bucky shouldn’t get too mad at him for it. He’s not walking around anymore. Plus doesn’t Bucky want him to get vitamin D?

Steve pulls out a notebook he keeps in his pocket and a snub of pencil he stole from Clint, who stole it from a golf course once, and idly starts sketching out the group of guys playing Frisbee in the grass. Motion is always harder to capture, and he’s focusing hard enough that he doesn’t immediately realize the guy stalking toward him.

“What are you staring at?” The guy yells as he gets closer. Steve, rudely yanked out of his drawing haze, blinks up at him.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was just drawing. I didn’t mean to stare.”

The guy rips the notebook from Steve’s hands and scoffs when he looks at the picture. “Knew it,” he spits. “Fucking fag.”

Well.

Steve had been fully prepared to beat a hasty retreat until that word entered the conversation. Now his eyes narrow and his blood starts to boil.

“What did you just say?” He asks seriously.

“You heard me,” the guy says. “Ogling us. You little fag.”

Steve’s hands ball into fists. “Stop saying that word.”

Now the guy cocks his head, a slow, ugly smile crossing his face. “What are you gonna do, little buddy?” He taunts, making his voice high and mocking. “You gonna fight me? You should probably call your momma to help you first. ‘Cept she’s probably busy on the corner.”

And that’s the final straw for Steve. He bursts up off the bench and starts swinging. His fist meets the guy’s cheek with a satisfying thud that makes up for the searing pain in Steve’s knuckles. Somehow, Steve’s ring catches the guy’s skin just right and splits it open.

“What the fuck!” The guy screams. Steve can tell from the look in the guy’s eyes that he’s about to get completely clobbered. He squares his shoulders and raises his fists, determined to get at least another hit or two in.

The guy punches Steve and he falls back onto the bench. He staggers back up to his feet as fast as he can. The guy’s friends are yelling now, and a few things happen quickly—another guy from the group starts running over, the guy cocks his fist back to punch Steve again, and Steve braces himself for impact. The punch never comes.

Bucky is standing there, holding onto the guy’s fist, mouth twisting angrily.

“Pick on somebody your own size,” he snarls, shoving the guy back. The guy’s friend catches up and yanks his arm back.

“Come on, stop!” His friend says. “I’m sorry,” he adds to Steve and Bucky.

“That your boyfriend?” The guy spits. “Fairies!”

“Stop it!” His friend says, pulling him back roughly. Bucky glares after them for a minute before turning to Steve, eyes blazing. His left hand twitches.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks. “Fuck, Steve, you were in the hospital _three days_ ago!”

Steve’s chin juts out almost against his will. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I needed to get out! I’ll never get stronger if I don’t walk around.”

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair. His skin is sallow, the shadows under his eyes deep, and Steve suddenly feels a rush of guilt for making anything more stressful for Bucky.  
“Let’s go home,” he says gently. As gently as he can with a bloody nose. Bucky sighs and nods. He pulls an honest-to-God handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to Steve.

“Stop the bleeding,” he says long-sufferingly.

“It’s white,” Steve points out. “It’ll get ruined.” He doesn’t add that a white handkerchief doesn’t seem very practical, even though he’s completely thinking it.

“You want to keep bleeding everywhere?” Bucky shoots back. “Your shirt’s ruined.”

Steve shrugs. “I’ll just keep bleeding on it, then,” he says. “So I don’t ruin two things.”

Bucky practically growls. “Just use the fucking handkerchief, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes but obliges. They walk home in silence, punctured only by Steve’s labored breathing. Bucky ushers Steve into the bathroom as soon as they get inside and pulls out the first aid kit.

“You just go prowling for people to fight or something?” Bucky asks as he gently dabs at the blood on Steve’s face.

“I was minding my own business,” Steve mutters. “I was just drawing. He came outta nowhere and got in my face.”

Bucky hums. “Called you a fag, huh?”

“And talked about my mother.”

Bucky nods, pursing his lips. “Well, guess you didn’t have much choice.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You think so?” _Steve_ certainly thinks so, but he kind of expected Bucky to give him some line about violence not being the answer.

“Sometimes you gotta fight,” Bucky says. “I get that. But I been thinking. You can’t just square up to some guy when you’re the size of his arm and don’t have a clue how to punch, okay?”

Steve huffs at the hyperbole but has to concede the overall point in Bucky’s words. “I have a _clue_ how to punch. I made him bleed.”

Bucky’s lips quirk a little but he graciously doesn’t point out that the only reason Steve drew blood was because of his ring. “Well, you need another clue,” Bucky continues. “So I’m gonna teach you to fight.”

“You are?” Steve asks, surprised.

“Yeah.” Bucky tilts Steve’s head to get some more blood down on his chin. “And then if I have a freak out and come at you, you can fight back.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, horrified. “I’m not going to fight you.”

Bucky breathes out through his nose, frustrated. “Steve, you don’t understand, okay? This arm…” He trails off and looks down at his metal hand. “It’s stronger than a regular arm. I could really hurt you.” He shakes his head. “I mean, you won’t be able to really do much damage to me, no matter what I teach you, but at least this way you might gain yourself some time to get away.”

Steve wonders vaguely if he should be offended by Bucky basically saying Steve could never hurt him, but he remembers feeling the firm muscle in Bucky’s chest and decides it’s true.

“I don’t ever want to hit you,” Steve says. Bucky’s hand is still cradling Steve’s chin and his thumb is brushing back and forth. It makes Steve feel soft and affectionate toward Bucky. It makes him even more upset about the idea of ever fighting Bucky.

“If it comes down to me hurting you, you gotta fight back.” Bucky’s voice is quiet, eyes downcast. “Okay? You have to promise.”

Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes and sees how strong he feels about this, and he swallows down his protests. “Okay,” he says. “I promise.”

  
Steve’s computer chimes with the familiar Skype tone. Peggy’s video-calling him. He’s already smiling when he picks up the call.

“Peggy!” He says.

“Hello, Steve,” she responds, smiling widely. Then she frowns. “You have a black eye. Did you honestly get in a fight so soon after getting out of the hospital?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I don’t need another lecture about it.”

“Another?” Peggy asks. “Who else has lectured you?”

“Sam and Riley called to yell at me. And Natasha just snapchatted me a video of her rolling her eyes. But Bucky gave me a pretty long lecture.”

“Well, good,” Peggy says. “Someone should.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” Steve assures her. “I get that fighting isn’t the best activity for me, especially right out of the hospital. But he didn’t give me a choice!”

“Was he bothering a young girl?” Peggy guesses. “Stole money from someone? Disrespected an elderly person on the subway?”

“He called me a fag,” Steve tells her flatly. Her eyes narrow.

“Well,” she says crisply. “Then I suppose he had it coming to him.”

Steve laughs a little. “Come on, you know I never fight anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, silly me,” Peggy teases. “So when do I get to meet your _husband_?” Her voice is full of laughter as she says husband and Steve rolls his eyes again.

“You don’t need to mock me,” he tells her. She laughs, that bright, happy sound that always makes him smile.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be on my best behavior,” she promises. “But really, I want to meet him.”

Something squirms in Steve’s stomach. It’s not that he thinks Bucky and Peggy won’t get along. Actually, he’s a little worried they’ll get along too well. Bucky’s gorgeous and funny and smart and caring. He’s also capable and strong-willed, and Steve’s worried, in all honesty, that Peggy will like Bucky more than she likes him. Bucky is exactly the kind of guy Peggy should be with.

“Uh…I guess I’ll see if he’s around,” Steve says evasively, reluctantly getting up to carry his computer into the living room. Bucky’s stretched out on the couch, reading something on his tablet. “Hey,” Steve says, keeping his voice cheerful. Bucky looks up at him and smiles, and Steve’s heart sinks a little. Bucky’s just too good-looking and charming. This can’t possibly end well for Steve. “Um, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Now?”

Steve lifts up his computer. “On Skype.” He comes over the couch and plops down on Bucky’s legs. Bucky huffs at him and sits up, making sure to nudge Steve as much as possible during the process. “Bucky, this is Peggy. Peggy, Bucky.”

“Well, hello there,” Peggy says. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”

Bucky’s smile looks a little weird and Steve can’t figure out why. Maybe he’s worried about what Steve’s been saying about him. “Oh, I’ve heard quite a bit about you, too.” He tips his head at her. “Steve didn’t tell me what a bombshell you are, though.”

“Yes, I did,” Steve insists indignantly, then goes scarlet as he realizes what he just said. “I mean—I didn’t say…well, I just mean…” Steve trails off. Bucky’s staring at him in disbelief.

“He did say you were a knockout,” Bucky covers. “But it hardly did you justice.”

Peggy snorts. “Oh, dear,” she says. “I can tell right now you’re the kind of boy who gets into trouble, aren’t you?”

“Not the kind of trouble I’d like to get into, lately,” Bucky admits, charming mask slipping just a bit into something darker. He lightens up and adds a wink. “If you know what I mean, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Peggy echoes, laughing. “Goodness, I’m not ninety.”

“I like to respect women who look like they could kick my ass and look good doing it,” Bucky jokes. Steve wants to get up and walk away, petulantly thinking they obviously don’t need him there for this conversation. But Bucky’s still got that weird smile on his face, the one that isn’t quite right, and Steve wonders if he’s nervous about talking to Peggy.

“Well, I’ll let you two get back to your conversation,” Bucky says. “It’s Beth’s night off at camp and she should be calling me soon.” He waves at Peggy. “Nice to meet you.”

He turns and walks away without a backward glance and Steve goes back to his room. “He seems nice,” Peggy says. “A bit abrupt.”

“He doesn’t always meet new people very well,” Steve says, hushed so Bucky doesn’t overhear him. “And I didn’t give him any kind of warning.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Peggy allows. “He’s been through a lot.”

“He has,” Steve agrees, thinking of Bucky pinching at his hand.

He and Peggy talk for about an hour, catching up and talking about whatever comes into their heads. Peggy tells him a story about one of her coworkers that makes him laugh so hard he starts coughing and Bucky comes running to his door, knocking and calling out,

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve gasps. “Just laughing too hard.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, voice emotionless. “Okay then.”

After Steve says his goodbyes to Peggy, he goes to the kitchen to find something to eat. He doesn’t want another drop of soup probably for the rest of his life. Then he feels guilty for thinking that, because it was incredibly kind of all those people to bring food over.

“I’m making chicken and vegetables,” Bucky tells him. “You want some?”

“Sure, thanks,” Steve says absently. They don’t say anything else while Bucky puts food on plates and carries it over.

“So, that was Peggy, huh?” Bucky remarks as he cuts his chicken. Steve tenses up. What’s Bucky going to say about her? “She seems real great.”

“She is,” Steve says. “She really is.”

“Bet she keeps you in line.” Bucky grins at him and Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be kept in line,” he protests, just because he can tell Bucky’s looking for a reaction.

They eat quietly for a minute, and Steve can feel the looks Bucky keeps sending at him. Finally, he looks up and Bucky’s staring at him. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“What’s your deal?” He asks bluntly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Steve lies. Bucky looks unimpressed. Steve sighs. “I was kind of afraid of you meeting Peggy.”

A little bit of hurt flashes over Bucky’s face before he drops his chin and looks at his plate. “I didn’t ask to meet her,” he points out.

“No, not because I didn’t want you to meet her because…well, whatever you’re thinking,” Steve says quickly. “It’s not like I’m embarrassed by you or anything like that. I…” He hesitates and sighs again. “I just figured she’d end up liking you instead of me.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Okay, well, I don’t think you need to worry about that, pal.”

“Why not?” Steve asks, defensive. It’s kind of weird that he’s defending Bucky to Bucky himself, but it’s not going to stop him.

“For starters, I think she’s pretty gone on you,” Bucky says, and Steve has to bite down on his tongue to stop from demanding more detail on why Bucky thinks that. This isn’t middle school. “And two, you’re way better than me. Three,” Bucky plows on before Steve can argue that point. “It doesn’t even matter if she did, because she can’t have me.”

“Some bro code kind of thing?” Steve asks, feeling a little touched. Bucky cracks up laughing.

“You are not the kind of guy I’d ever imagine saying _bro code_ ,” he confesses. “Sure, Steve, I wouldn’t go after your girl because of a bro code. Or there’s the fact that, you know, _I don’t like girls_.”

Steve suddenly remembers, with a swift, humiliating clarity, that Bucky is not bisexual, like he is. Bucky is gay. And Peggy is a woman.

“Oh God,” Steve groans, covering his face with his hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Bucky roars with laughter. “I promise, Stevie, with all my heart, I will never steal your girl.”

“Stop,” Steve grumbles. Bucky doesn’t stop. He just keeps laughing. “Anyway, she’s not my girl,” Steve clarifies. “She’s—my friend. And she _is_ a girl. A woman, I mean.”

“Wow,” Bucky breathes. “You are totally hopeless.”

Steve makes a wounded noise. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says, shrugging and stabbing at a piece of broccoli. “She’s in England.”

“Far away,” Bucky sympathizes. “That sucks.”

Steve just shrugs again. “Nothing I can do about it.”

“You want to watch another movie tonight?” Bucky suggests. “We’re almost through the stack.”

Steve falls asleep twenty minutes into the movie. He didn’t get much sleep last night, what with the whole thing with Bucky and then drawing for hours, and plus he’s worn out from walking so much after lying around being sick for so long _and_ getting in a fight.

He wakes up a few hours later, the menu song on the DVD looping over and over, and looks over to see Bucky’s face slack with sleep. Steve smiles at that—Bucky’s drooling a little—and tugs at Bucky’s right arm. Bucky’s eyes snap open.

“What?” He rasps. Steve mourns how relaxed he’d looked.

“I was just gonna say we should go to bed,” Steve whispers. He’s not sure why he’s whispering when they’re both awake, but something about the middle of the night makes him think he should whisper.

“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, keeping his voice down, too. He looks toward his door. “It’s so far away, though.”

“I know,” Steve says. So far away and so alone. “Maybe I’ll just…sleep here.” He tries to keep his voice nonchalant. Bucky nods.

“Well, I think I’m going to, too,” he says, and Steve tries not to let his face show that that’s exactly what he was hoping would happen.

“Okay,” Steve says casually, pulling his feet up and lying down, leaving space for Bucky to lie beside him. Bucky’s eyes dart around his face for a minute, assessing him, and then he does, relaxing muscles he’d been holding tense.

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist, presses his face into Bucky’s back, and quickly falls right back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter was kind of a struggle for me, honestly. I rewrote the middle-of-the-night sleepwalking/waking nightmare scene probably...four times, I think? There was a version where Bucky came to with his hand around Steve's throat, and one where he grabbed Steve's wrist and sprained it, and one where he punched Steve, and I just...didn't like it. I know that canon post-TWS Bucky is very, very likely to lash out with violence, and hello, absolutely 100% understandably so. But I'm not sure that fits for this version of Bucky. This is not a Winter Soldier Bucky. This Bucky was not trained as an assassin for seventy years. He was still a sniper, sure, but that's long-range, from far away, and I didn't feel comfortable writing him lashing out violently. For one thing, this is pre-serum Steve, and a metal-armed Bucky getting violent with him could do some real, actual, lasting damage, and that's not the direction this is going. For another, I just felt really uncomfortable with perpetuating the idea that people who have been traumatized are automatically a threat and a danger to people around them. Canon post-TWS Bucky probably IS a potential threat and a danger, at least at first. But I don't think this Bucky is, not at this point, so the scene went down this way. If you have strong feelings about that and want to tell me those strong feelings, feel free! You can do it in the comments or drop me a line on tumblr.


	13. Chapter 13

They’re eating breakfast and Steve asks, mouth full of eggs, “So when are we boxing?”

Bucky gives him a look. “Not for another two weeks, since the doctor said you’re supposed to take it easy for _at least_ two weeks and you haven’t been doing that.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. He should have expected that. Steve knows what the doctor said. He also knows he should probably follow what the doctor said. He just thinks if Bucky’s _so concerned_ with Steve learning how to fight, he’d want to start sooner.

“Well, I have to go back to the doctor for a chest x-ray on Friday,” Steve reminds Bucky. “So maybe he’ll say I’m fine after that.”

“Oh, yeah, and maybe I’ll become a superhero and wear a little mask to hide my identity,” Bucky shoots back dryly.

“Excuse you,” Steve says, wounded. “Stranger things have happened than me getting a clean bill of health.”

“You ever gotten a clean bill of health in your life?” Bucky asks skeptically. “Anyway, your doctor’s not gonna say, ‘hey, you passed out and almost drowned in the fluid in your lungs a week and a half ago, but yeah, go box’, is he?”

Steve makes a face. “He might,” he mutters without any heat. Bucky laughs and Steve kicks him under the table.

“Hey!” Bucky yelps. “I said we’re not fighting yet!” He kicks Steve back.

“That’s so immature,” Steve criticizes as he steals Bucky’s last piece of bacon.

“Dugan wants to throw us a housewarming party,” Bucky says as he swipes a forkful of Steve’s eggs in retaliation.

“We’ve lived here for like two months,” Steve says.

“Dugan just wants to have a party.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “And I think he has a thing for Natasha.”

Steve laughs. “Well, I think she’s with Clint.”

“No shit?” Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Go Clint.”

“I know, right?” Steve shakes his head. “But Clint’s got more going for him than he lets people see.”

“I like Clint,” Bucky decides. “And Dugan’s always into some girl. He’s probably got three others he’s working at the same time.”

“Is it going to be a problem to invite all of them?” Steve asks. “Dugan’s not gonna have an issue with Clint?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dugan doesn’t have a problem with anyone. Not really.”

“Should your family come?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”

Steve gives him a strange look. “What’s that about? You don’t want them to come?”

“Dude, you haven’t seen my family around the Commandos.” Bucky shakes his head. “My parents are obsessed with them. And Bailey and Beth both have huge crushes on Gabe.”

Steve throws back his head and laughs as he grabs Bucky’s empty plate and heads for the sink. “Well, Gabe _is_ pretty hot.”

“Not you, too,” Bucky groans. “He’s got a big enough head as it is.”

“Maybe after our year’s up I’ll date him,” Steve jokes. An awkward silence falls between them after he says it and he wishes he could reach out and pull the words back in. He sort of just implied, in a way, that he and Bucky are dating. Which they aren’t. But now Bucky’s going to think Steve thinks they’re dating. Which he doesn’t. Steve can feel his face getting redder and redder as the silence stretches on.

“Well, that would go against the bro code,” Bucky finally says, picking up an abandoned piece of toast left on the table, and Steve lets out a long exhale and a relieved little chuckle.

“You’re never going to let me live that down.”

“No, I’m sure not.”

  
“You’re throwing yourself a housewarming party?” Sam asks, amused. “What arrogant assholes.”

“We’re not throwing it ourselves!” Steve protests. “Dugan’s throwing it for us.”

“Okay,” Sam says, in a tone that clearly indicates he doesn’t believe Steve at all. “But is Dugan actually planning anything?”

Steve glances toward the kitchen counter, where they’ve been gathering fancy wine glasses and matching tiny plates that people are apparently supposed to put food on once they decide what food they’re having, and says, “Yes.”

Sam waits, but Steve doesn’t have anything else to say, so he laughs and says, “What do you need me to bring?”

“You don’t have to bring anything!” Steve promises. “Just show up. I mean, bring Riley.”

“Ugh,” Sam groans playfully. “That’s the worst thing you could’ve asked me to bring.”

“I can tell you’re talking about me!” Riley’s voice, muffled and distant, comes over the line. “Fuck you, Wilson!”

“You already did today!” Sam calls back.

Steve makes exaggerated gagging noises. “Keep your private life private.”

“Whatever, you’re just mad ‘cause you’re not getting any,” Sam teases.

Steve splutters, which was undoubtedly Sam’s goal. “We are not discussing this,” Steve says, blushing.  
  
Sam laughs loud, right in Steve’s ear, and Steve glares at the phone like it’ll make it to Sam. “Okay, I’m sorry,” Sam apologizes, though he’s still laughing. “Speaking of, you heard from Peggy lately?”

Steve squawks and Sam cracks up again. “That is not a _speaking of_ , Sam!”

“You wish it was,” Sam points out.

“The party’s Friday at seven at our house. I hate you but you’re still invited,” Steve says. “I’m hanging up on you now.” He does just that, Sam’s laughter still ringing in his ear, and shakes his head. Sometimes he doesn’t know why he’s friends with Sam. That’s not true, and he almost feels guilty even thinking it. He always knows why he’s friends with Sam.

Over on the couch, Bucky sighs in frustration. Steve raises his eyebrows. “What’s up?” He asks. Bucky’s got his laptop open and has been jabbing angrily at the buttons for a few minutes now.

“I just—nothing,” Bucky says, glaring at his screen. “This damn website’s going so slow.”

“What website?” Steve asks.

Bucky goes a little red. “Um. My school. I…I’m registering for classes.”

“Bucky!” Steve says. “That’s so exciting!”

Bucky’s shoulders hunch a little. “Yeah,” he says, almost shy. Then he frowns. “Except it won’t let me sign up for this class.”

“What class?” Steve hops off the barstool and leans over the back of the couch to look at the computer over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky stiffens up a little as Steve reads. _Disability in American Society_.

“I thought…” Bucky trails off, shrugging, lips pursed and cheeks red, and Steve’s chest aches a little. Bucky’s so embarrassed about it, and he shouldn’t be.

“Well, that sounds like an awesome class,” Steve says honestly. “But look at the class code—it’s an upper level class. You can’t take it as a freshman.”

“Oh.” Bucky sags a little.

“I bet you could talk to the teacher,” Steve suggests. “See if there’s an opening you could fill, if the class isn’t totally full.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bucky exits the window. The background on his computer is a picture of his family, and Steve finds that ridiculously endearing.

“People do it all the time,” Steve assures him. “Look up the professor and you can—”

“Stop,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’m not talking to anyone. They’ll take one look at my arm and let me in just because of that. I’m not—no.”

Silence falls between them. On the one hand, Steve wants to argue with him, push him to take the class if he really wants to, but on the other, Steve has to admit Bucky probably has a point. And Steve knows all too well the feeling of people giving you special treatment because of your disability.

He remembers distinctly being in the fourth grade and having the recess teachers guard him, making sure no one pushed him off the swings or the slide. Of course, they _should_ have been watching him to make sure he didn’t get into a fist fight over the _other_ kids getting pushed off the swings and slide, but they were worried he’d break. And Jimmy Hanson had turned to him with a jealous pout and said, “Sure must be nice to always get the swing you want.” Steve had sputtered, too young to know how to explain that what he wanted was to be _normal_. He didn’t want special treatment; he wanted to fend for himself against the sixth graders just like anyone else.

“I had this whole schedule done,” Bucky mutters. “Now I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” His hand is shaking a little as he picks up the paper he’d written the schedule out on, in widely-spaced block letters. Steve’s throat clogs up a little at the sight. It looks like the careful writing of a child—someone learning to write for the first time.

Or the second, in Bucky’s case.

“Want me to help?” Steve offers, proud of himself for how even his voice is. “I was the master of planning classes so they were close together.”

Bucky shifts uneasily, face a little red. “I can do it.”

“I know,” Steve says, careful to stay casual. “Just thought it might be fun to look together. I mean, I’ll be here while you’re taking the classes, right? You’ll probably tell me what you’re learning. I don’t want to get stuck listening to anything boring.” He grins at Bucky after that, and he’s rewarded with Bucky rolling his eyes.

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Yeah, thanks.”

Steve comes around to sit beside Bucky, the computer resting on Steve’s right leg and Bucky’s left. “Okay,” Steve starts. “Have you signed up for anything yet?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes darting away. “Well, bring the website back up. What do you need to take?” He winces a little when he hears how bossy his voice is, but he stops worrying when he sees Bucky’s tense shoulders relax a little. Bucky would rather Steve be bossy than baby him.

“I, uh.” Bucky bites at his thumbnail while he pulls up the site. “I have to take this English class.”

Steve can tell immediately why Bucky feels awkward about it. It’s a remedial English class, not even a 100-level freshman course, and Steve remembers Bucky’s frustration during Mad Gab and his confession about playing Scrabble every day. He has to actively remind his arms not to reach out and throw themselves around Bucky.

“Good thing you know all those ridiculous Scrabble words,” Steve manages to joke. Bucky huffs.

“Most of ‘em ain’t that hard,” he teases, and Steve laughs harder than is strictly necessary. He only coughs a little, and Bucky narrows his eyes but lets it go without freaking out. It takes them nearly an hour to get Bucky’s schedule in order, with outbursts from both of them at how slow the website is and how quickly the classes fill up.

Somehow, after finalizing Bucky’s schedule, they end up watching YouTube videos of astronauts in zero gravity training, and that leads them to videos of hoverboards, and Bucky admits he’d tried to build a hoverboard for a middle school science fair and ended up falling and breaking a tooth.

“But I had kind of a snaggletooth anyway,” he says with a shrug and a laugh. “So then I had an excuse to get my teeth fixed.”

“A snaggletooth?” Steve asks, tipping his head to the side to try to picture Bucky’s perfect teeth, well, imperfect.

“This one.” Bucky taps it. “When Becca got mad at me she used to call me Snagglepuss.” Steve barks out a laugh and Bucky mock-glares at him. “How dare you.”

“I feel like I need to hang out with Becca more. She and I would get along.”

“You do _not_ need to hang out with Becca,” Bucky counters. “You two would be the biggest pain in my ass.”

Steve gives him an unimpressed look. “Bucky, you’re gay. I bet you know all about pain in the ass.”

Bucky’s face is completely blank for a second, and then he howls with laughter. “What the _fuck_ ,” he gasps. “Oh my God.”

Steve can’t help but grin, pleased with his joke, until one of the throw pillows hits him squarely in the face. He lets out a very manly sound that is definitely not a squeak as Bucky shoves the pillow into his face.

“I finally got in a good one and you’re punishing me for it!” Steve protests, muffled behind the pillow.

“Now all I can hear is innuendo in everything you say.” Bucky pulls the pillow away so Steve can breathe.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re a pervert obsessed with sex,” Steve throws out. Bucky hits him with the pillow again. Steve tugs at it, trying to steal it away, and instead it rips open and covers them both with stuffing.

They sit in stunned silence for a second.

“How could…there’s no way I’m strong enough for that!” Steve says. They both look down, where Bucky’s left hand is still clenched around the pillow.

“Oops,” Bucky says sheepishly. “That…might’ve been my fault.”

Steve almost pees his pants laughing at the fluff nestled in Bucky’s hair and the absolute shock on his face. It sets him to coughing again, but it’s completely worth it.

  
“Oh, Steve, your face,” is the first thing Winifred says when she walks in the front door. “What happened?”

“What happened is Steve can’t step one foot outside without finding someone to fight,” Bucky says before Steve can speak up. Steve gives him a dirty look.

“I was minding my own business,” Steve insists.

“Well, of course you were,” Winifred agrees. “It’s not like you go around looking for fights.”

“ _Ma_ ,” Bucky starts. “That is _exactly_ what he does.”

“I do not!” Steve protests.

“Oh, what, it’s just a coincidence you get in a fight a week?” Sam and Riley walk in just then, and Steve groans a little. “Does Steve go around looking for fights?” Bucky asks triumphantly.

“Absolutely,” Sam says immediately.

“I’ve never met someone who picked fights more,” Riley adds.

“I don’t _pick_ fights,” Steve argues stubbornly. “I just…find them.”

“Steve, honey, why do you want to fight so much?” Winifred fusses, actually reaching out and smoothing a hand through Steve’s hair. He only flinches a little. He’s just surprised by it, is all. It’s not like he’s opposed, necessarily, though it would be easy to feel kind of patronized by the gesture.

“Hey, now,” Sam interjects. “I will say he only ends up in fights when people deserve it.”

“Deserve it how?” George asks skeptically, eyeing Steve and the black eye he’s sporting.

“Well, for example, this guy called him a fag,” Bucky says, anger in his voice. Winifred actually gasps. A real gasp, like in a movie. George frowns.

“And then he assaulted you?” He asks. “Did you call the police? Did you file a report? That’s a hate crime.”

“Dad,” Bucky says, almost warningly.

“What?” George asks. “It _is_ a hate crime.”

They’re saved from continuing the conversation by the Howling Commandos literally barging through the door, loud and boisterous as always. Bailey’s eyes light up.

“Hi,” she says excitedly.

“Bay Bay Bay-be!” Dugan yells, grabbing her in a bear hug and twirling her around.

“Dugan!” She squeals. “I’m not a little kid!”

“Who says I thought you were?” Dugan shoots back with a wink. Bucky rolls his eyes long-sufferingly while Bailey giggles.

“Beth is going to be _so mad_ we didn’t wait for her,” she says.

“We can have a big dinner when she gets back,” Winifred assures her, even though Bailey seems more gleeful than worried. “And everyone’s invited!”

“Big dinner?” Clint says as he walks in with Natasha and Kate. “I heard big dinner.”

“Not tonight,” Steve tells him, eliciting a disappointed frown.

“In two weeks when Beth gets back from camp,” Winifred explains. “What’s your favorite food? I’ll make it.”

Clint goes a little red, unused to any kind of parental attention but especially maternal. “Uh,” he sputters. “Pizza?”

Winifred nods thoughtfully. “I can make pizza. With maybe a garlic-brushed crust?”

Clint’s eyes go dreamy. “Barnes, I want to steal your mother.”

“Get in line!” Gabe says. Winifred blushes a little.

“You boys,” she titters. “You’ll take anyone who can cook.”

Bucky kisses her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Ma. I _really_ love you. I remember when you couldn’t cook at all.”

“Dark days,” George agrees. “It was burnt rice every night because neither of us knew what we were doing.”

“You helped?” Steve asks, surprised. They just seem so…conservative. Traditional. He just assumed it was Winifred cooking all the time.

“Still do,” George says. “I’m nowhere near as good as Fred, of course. But I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone to bust out the wine. Steve, Bucky, and Bailey stick to sparkling cider, though Bailey kind of skulks around the wine for a while until Bucky gives her a sharp look and shakes his head.

“Nice shiner,” Natasha comments teasingly, leaning against the counter while Steve puts more crackers on a plate. Steve waves a cracker in the air exasperatedly.

“I already got lectured tonight about how I should’ve pressed charges for a hate crime,” he says. “Don’t you start.”

Natasha laughs a little. “Really? Who gave you that lecture?”

“Bucky’s dad.” Steve shrugs.

Natasha nods. “Guess he doesn’t know you’d rather handle everyone on your own, huh?”

“Bucky helped me,” Steve points out. “Why isn’t anyone lecturing _him_?”

“Maybe because _he_ doesn’t have a track record of going around fighting random assholes in alleys,” Natasha suggests.

“How do you know?” Steve mutters, making her snort.

“So?” She asks conspiratorially. “How’s this whole charade going?”

Steve glances toward the living room, making sure none of the Howling Commandos or Bailey are listening in. “We’re good,” he says. “We’re…friends.” It’s not that he didn’t realize it before; he did. They’ve reached a point of easy camaraderie he was worried they’d never get to. But it’s the first time he’s said that out loud, and for some reason it gives him pause. Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“We are,” Steve says, firmer this time. “We’re friends. It’s just funny—I was starting to think we’d never become friends and it would be awkward and miserable for a whole year.”

“You’re welcome,” she says regally.

Steve laughs. “What?” He asks. “You think you get credit for us becoming friends?”

She levels him with a stare that would be terrifying if he didn’t know her well enough to see the smirk beneath it. “I seem to recall someone pushing you to take this. Who was that? Was it Kate? No…I don’t think it was Kate…” She taps her chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You made me _marry_ him,” he points out. “That doesn’t mean we had to become friends.”

Natasha rolls her eyes right back. “Like I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

Steve scoffs. “You had no way of knowing that!”

“I heard him talk one time and knew you’d be besties in no time.”

“Stevie!” Bucky calls. “You got those crackers or are they up on a high shelf or something?”

Natasha cracks up when Steve immediately scowls at the jab at his height. If it was a different group of people, people he didn’t know or feel comfortable around, he’d be honestly upset, but since he’s friends with everyone here, it’s just an annoyance.

“Coming, darling,” he yells back, syrupy sweet, and hears Bucky bark out a surprised laugh at the endearment. Clint, Kate, Dugan, and Gabe have gotten into a heated darts competition with the dart board Steve didn’t know they had. Clint is winning, though Kate is very close behind, and the two of them are blowing Dugan and Gabe out of the water. The thing is, Dugan and Gabe are above average, but Clint and Kate both have freakish aim from their archery skills.

“Don’t miss, Katie Kate,” Clint taunts as Kate prepares for her next shot. She gives him a pitying look.

“What kind of life do you have that you have to trash-talk a twenty-one-year-old at darts?” She asks.

Clint shrugs blithely. “I’ve made my peace.”

“How come you don’t have any pictures up?” Morita asks. “Of the two of you, I mean.”

There are a few art prints on the walls, generic pastoral scenes that wouldn’t be out of place in a hotel room, and Steve freezes. He’d never even thought of the decorating scheme.

“I took those engagement shots and pictures at your wedding and you’re not framing _any_ of them!” Dugan adds indignantly, finally giving up on darts after Kate lands another bull’s-eye and Clint quickly follows suit.

“We haven’t been able to agree on which ones to blow up,” Bucky lies smoothly. It’s a good lie; no one even questions it. It’s completely believable to anyone who’s spent more than two minutes in a room with both Steve and Bucky.

“Well, get together over there—let’s get one of you at your housewarming party,” Falsworth urges.

“Yeah, get real cozy,” Riley encourages, waggling his eyebrows. Sam gives him a dirty look. Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve and Steve shrugs. He walks over and nestles into Bucky’s side. Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s waist and presses his lips to Steve’s temple as Dugan takes the picture.

“Awww!” Bailey cries. “That was adorable.”

“It _was_ ,” Natasha agrees. “Very adorable.” Steve thinks maybe Sam will give her a dirty look, but even Sam’s laughing at him now. He’d be hurt by their treachery if he wasn’t comfortable with Bucky now. It barely even feels strange for Bucky to kiss Steve’s hair; it certainly doesn’t feel weird to hold hands.

They sit on the couch and Steve rests his arm on the back behind Bucky’s head. Bucky’s got his hair up in a bun again, and sometimes when he moves his head the bun brushes against Steve’s arm.

It doesn’t take long for the Commandos to be pretty drunk. They know how to party, that’s for sure. Sam is a little more wary after the wedding, and Riley’s never been a big fan of wine. Natasha, of course, can drink for hours and stay composed, but Steve’s favorite reaction has to be Winifred’s.

George has had two glasses of wine. His cheeks are flushed, but that’s the only sign he’s feeling anything. Winifred, on the other hand, has become increasingly mouthy with every drink. Steve had been wondering if Bucky’s bossy, snarky side was something unique to him, but for the first time, Steve can see it must be hereditary.

“You know, Steve,” she says, wine glass tilting a little dangerously. George, his arm around her shoulders, rescues it sneakily. “I’m really glad you kicked that homophobe’s ass.”

Steve laughs, completely caught off guard. “I didn’t exactly kick his ass,” he confesses.

“Hey, you made him bleed,” Bucky reminds him gallantly. Steve rolls his eyes a little and Bucky grins.

“Well, he deserved it,” Winifred declares. “I wanna find him. _I’ll_ kick his ass.”

“Ma,” Bailey laughs embarrassedly. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”

“I ain’t even drunk,” Winifred insists, her accent coming out stronger and pure Brooklyn, and for a second Steve thinks, with a pang, of his own mother's Irish lilt..

“Let her drink!” Morita cries.

George gives Bucky and Steve a look. “I think it’s our cue to leave,” he says. “Fred, you ready to go home?”

Winifred winks at him. “Oh, you betcha, baby,” she purrs. Bucky sputters and Bailey shrieks while everyone else screams with laughter. The party breaks up, everyone trundling off to the train or into cabs. Steve and Bucky get ready to clean up, but everything’s mostly done—everyone’s plates are rinsed and in the dishwasher, and somehow even the wineglasses have been washed and are drying.

“I didn’t notice anyone doing that,” Bucky says, brow wrinkled. “I’d say my ma, but she was pretty tipsy. Not that I don’t think the boys would do it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dugan wash a dish, especially not glass.”

“My money’s on Natasha,” Steve says.

“How’d she do it so fast?”

Steve shrugs. “She’s like some kind of ninja, seriously.”

“Well, thank you, Natasha,” Bucky says to the empty air. Steve snorts. They head back to the living room and both slump onto the couch. Bucky groans.

“I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

“I want to go to bed.”

“Me too.”

Neither of them move.

“What if I just slept on the couch?” Bucky says.

“You have to get up eventually,” Steve points out. “You gotta pee before you go to sleep.” He pauses. “But I mean. The couch is closer than my room to the bathroom. So…maybe _I’ll_ sleep on the couch.” He wills himself not to blush. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again. He _can’t_ sleep alone again. Maybe if he says it Bucky will sleep out here too.

“We can’t sleep on the couch again,” Bucky protests, and Steve is careful not to look disappointed. There’s another silence. “But. You know. Um. My room is closer than yours.”

“Yeah…” Steve says slowly. Bucky’s got that blank face on, the one that Steve hates because he can’t read it.

“So, uh. I mean, if you’re all worn out from the party and can’t make it back to your bed. We could just...share mine. You _did_ just get out of the hospital less than a week ago.”

Steve feels a little guilty using the hospital to get Bucky to agree, but he won’t be able to use that excuse much longer, so he shrugs. “I do feel pretty tired,” he agrees. “But not so tired that I might be getting sick again,” he adds quickly.

Bucky smiles. “Well, okay.” His smile disappears. “Steve? Aren’t you kind of…afraid?”

The bottom falls out of Steve’s stomach for a second. Afraid? Not exactly the word he’d put to that gnawing, anxious feeling when he thinks about being alone, but he supposes it works.

“I almost hurt you,” Bucky continues, and Steve realizes Bucky’s talking about Steve being afraid of _him_ , afraid of sleeping beside him.

“Bucky,” Steve says firmly. “You hurt _yourself_ when you were…whatever it was. Not completely awake. Feeling threatened. You didn’t hurt _me_.”

Bucky bites his lip. “I could’ve.”

“Maybe.” Steve shrugs. “And I could’ve had a heart attack in the middle of the night and died. If we live by maybes we won’t be doing much living.”

Bucky stares at him kind of suspiciously for a minute. “Is that from a movie?”

“No,” Steve says, kind of offended. “I thought of it on my own.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m a little insulted you don’t seem to think I’m clever enough to think it up on my own!” Steve tells him indignantly. Bucky waves a hand around.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re clever enough,” he explains. “It just sounds familiar.”

“Google it,” Steve challenges. Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket with an equally challenging look and purses his lips after a few seconds of looking at the results.

“Okay, fine,” he admits. “I guess you thought it up.”

“Say I’m the cleverest,” Steve goads him.

“I will _never_ say that,” Bucky shoots back, smirk playing on his lips. Steve leans forward as menacingly as he can.

“Say it.”

“You can go ahead and try to torture it outta me,” Bucky says. “But it won’t work. Ask the people who already tried.”

Steve’s grin falls off his face. He feels like Bucky just punched him in the stomach. “That’s not funny.”

Bucky sighs. “Come on, Steve, I gotta keep a sense of humor, you know?”

“I can’t...” Steve shakes his head. He understands dark humor—he really, really does. But this hurts something in him, makes his chest feel tight. The conversation he had with Beth suddenly pops into his mind and he understands now how she felt. “I just can’t joke about what they did to you.”

Steve can’t read the look Bucky gives him. It’s almost assessing, he thinks. Then Bucky smiles softly and puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Come on, man,” he says. “Let’s go to bed.”

And if Bucky notices that Steve wraps his arms around him just a little tighter than he normally does, he doesn’t mention it.

  
They share Bucky’s bed for the rest of the week. He doesn’t have any more nighttime wanderings, but sometimes he does whimper and shudder and cry out. Steve’s always been a light sleeper, so each little sound wakes him up and breaks his heart, but all it takes is Steve rubbing Bucky’s back or sleepily whispering, “You’re okay, Buck, you’re safe now,” for Bucky to sigh and fall back to sleep.

Sharing a bed with Bucky is certainly nice for Steve—Bucky’s arms are long enough to reach the nightstand without getting up, so he can grab Steve’s water when he’s coughing or, if it’s really bad, his inhaler.

“Hey, breathe with me,” Bucky murmurs when this happens. “Come on, in and out.”

By Friday, Steve feels more rested than he can remember being in a long time. It’s so much easier to get back to sleep after a coughing fit with someone breathing slow and deep beside him.

Bucky starts disappearing during the days again, but not for as long. Steve half-wakes every morning when Bucky gets up to work out, but Bucky always shushes at him tells him to go back to sleep, and it’s not hard to oblige, stretching out all his limbs into the empty space Bucky left and star fishing his way back to sleep before eating the breakfast Bucky left for him, painting all day, sometimes getting lunch with Sam or Natasha or Riley or Clint, and making dinner before Bucky gets back.

But then it’s Friday, and Steve has to get up and head back to the hospital for his follow-up chest x-ray.

“You sure I don’t need to come?” Bucky asks, a little anxiously. He’s usually gone by now, and Steve was half-hoping he’d forget about the chest x-ray for this exact reason. Bucky already does too much for Steve—Steve feels like he’s not giving Bucky anything in return. He doesn’t want to make Bucky go back to the hospital, too, not when the hospital is such a hard place for him to be.

“Bucky,” Steve says, half-soothing and half-warning. “This ain’t my first rodeo. I can handle a chest x-ray.”

Bucky bites at his thumbnail. “Okay,” he says. “I just don’t want you to do that thing where you pretend you’re fine and you’re not.”

Steve scoffs a little. “Who says I do that?”

Bucky gives him a look. “Literally anyone who’s heard you speak or spent more than five seconds in a room with you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, that seems like an exaggeration.”

Bucky laughs at him and shakes his head. “Fine. I need to go help my dad at the store anyway.”

They walk to the train station together, still discussing the ending of _27 Dresses_.

“Her sister shouldn’t have lied at all,” Steve says, like he’s said at least five times already since they watched it last night.

Bucky shrugs. “Sometimes it happens. You just want to be what they want you to be and you don’t mean for it to go so far but sometimes it does.”

Steve looks at Bucky sideways. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Bucky huffs. “Just because I can see her point of view doesn’t automatically mean it’s happened to me.” He pauses. “But yeah.” Steve laughs at him and gets an elbow to the ribs in retaliation. “I was young!” Bucky insists. “Not all of us can be 100% true to ourselves all the time.”

Steve thinks about that all the way to the hospital. Was Bucky talking about _him_? He thinks Steve is 100% true to himself all the time? He chews on that for a few stops, considering. He’s not big on hiding his flaws, at least partially because a lot of them are physical and pretty impossible to hide. He’s not entirely sure what being _true to himself_ even means. It just sounds like something a wise old Disney character would advise the heroine to do.

The chest x-ray comes back normal, or at least as normal as Steve’s x-rays can ever be. The fluid’s gone down, and everything looks alright.

“But you still need to take your antibiotics,” the doctor tells him sternly, like Steve’s an eight-year-old who hasn’t been through this a hundred times. “And keep doing your breathing treatments until the prescription runs out.”

“Got it,” Steve says. “How long until I can get back to regular activity?”

The doctor looks a little incredulous. “You shouldn’t really be doing regular activity based on your asthma alone.”

Steve purses his lips. What’s he supposed to do, hide out inside his whole life? Become a hermit? Find one of those couches and people to carry him around like Cleopatra? He shakes his head at that mental image. His friends would probably actually consider it if they thought it was good for his lungs. It also might cut down on the number of fights he gets into.

“I’m not trying to run a marathon,” Steve points out wryly. “I’d just like to walk to the kitchen from my bedroom and not get a lecture about taking it easy.”

The doctor chuckles. “Yeah, your husband seemed pretty protective.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “He’s a worrywart.”

“He has reason to be,” the doctor reminds him. “With your history and your immune system?” Steve can’t quite keep the mulish look off his face, and the doctor’s look softens a little. “I know you probably get tired of hearing this,” he says. “But you really do need to look after yourself.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a minute, feeling chastised and young. “So running and boxing are probably out, huh?” He jokes.

The doctor tips his head, considering. “Light exercise wouldn’t be a bad idea. But _light_ ,” he adds, like Steve missed it the first time. “Start with walking before running. Don’t box for longer than half an hour. And keep your inhaler ready at all times.”

“I always do,” Steve promises, which is actually not a lie. If only one thing his mother taught him stuck, it was never forgetting his inhaler.

It’s with great joy Steve heads home and tells Bucky, “The doctor said I can box!”

Bucky gives Steve the absolute most skeptical, disbelieving look he’s ever received. “Did he also pull of his face and reveal a second head underneath?”

“Ew, what?”

“Seems more likely than a doctor telling you to box.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, annoyed now. “You don’t think maybe I’m just not so delicate and breakable?”

Bucky tips his head back and lets out a long breath. “I don’t think you’re delicate. Just…a little fragile, maybe.”

“I’m not going to break!” Steve says angrily.

“I don’t think you’re going to break; I think your lungs are going to shut down!”

“I can handle more than anyone gives me credit for!”

“I know you’re tough, Steve, you don’t have to hurt yourself proving it!”

“Stop being so patronizing!”

They’re standing inches from each other, squaring off and yelling in each other’s faces, until Bucky exhales loudly and half-turns away, jaw clenched. When he looks back at Steve, his face is calmer, though it seems forced.

“Okay,” he says evenly. “Let’s go.”

“Right now?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “You need to eat first? Do it, then we’ll go.”

Faced with the actual reality of the situation, Steve has to admit he’s a bit nervous. He doesn’t exactly have a winning record with fights. Still, he agreed to this, and he wants to do this, and here he just fought Bucky on it, so he raises his chin defiantly and says,

“I’ll change.”

The gym isn’t very big; the inside seems even smaller than the outside. There’s a ring off to the side, looking almost like an afterthought, and punching bags of different sizes hanging throughout the room.

Two guys are in the ring, laughing and trash-talking each other, with three other friends goading them both. All five people look up when Steve and Bucky walk in the door, and the biggest guy’s face lights up.

“Barnes!” He calls out. “You have returned! And with a friend!” He has an accent Steve can’t quite place.

“Heya, Thor,” Bucky replies as they step up to the edge of the ring. “This is Steve. He needs to learn to fight.”

Thor studies him for a minute, and Steve knows he looks defensive as hell—shoulders thrown back, chin up, eyes full of spite. Thor is _huge_ (not to mention other-worldly beautiful) and obviously incredibly athletic; Steve can’t imagine he looks like much to this guy.

But then Thor smiles, wide enough to make his eyes crinkle, and he says, “I can see the fighter attitude in him already.”

Bucky snorts. “You don’t know the half of it, pal.” The gestures to the people in the ring. “Thor. Sif. Hogun. Fandrul. And Volstagg.” He catches sight of Steve’s face and grins, adding quietly, “They’re Norwegian or something.”

“Come up here, Steven,” Thor says. “I can teach you and Fandrul at the same time, since he seems to have forgotten everything he claims to have once known.”

“I haven’t forgotten beating you,” Fandrul shoots back.

Thor laughs again. It’s a loud sound that carries through the gym, making the guy at one of the punching bags start a little. “Once out of a hundred is not much.”

“But it is once,” Sif breaks in.

“Sif hasn’t forgiven either of you for beating her once,” Hogun adds. Sif cracks her knuckles.

“And I am ready for a rematch.”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should introduce her to Natasha and watch them get along _way_ too well, or keep them apart forever for everyone’s safety.”

Bucky laughs. “Let’s face it, if they want to meet, they’ll meet, no matter what anyone else wants or does.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Go up in the ring with Thor. I’m gonna go hit the bag.”

“You’re not going to stay with me?” The question slips out before Steve can stop it. Bucky shrugs, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Thor’s the best around. The best around _anywhere_ , really. He’s been winning all kinds of competitions since he was like nine, ‘til he got hurt fighting a guy way too big for him and was out for a while. But he’s back now and he’s even better. He’ll teach you the best.”

“He’s better than you?” Steve asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky assures him. “He knows way more than I do.” Steve still hesitates, and Bucky leans in and says, “Look, if Thor trains you he might teach you some moves I don’t know. In case you need to catch me off guard.”

Steve’s stomach twists as he remembers the main reason Bucky wants him to learn to fight. He wants to protest, wants to call it quits if this is what it’s going to mean. But they’re already here, and Thor and his group are watching, and Bucky’s shifting uncomfortably under all their eyes.

“Okay,” Steve relents. “Hopefully I don’t make a fool of myself too badly.”

“Oh, you undoubtedly will,” Volstagg tells him cheerfully. “Everyone does at first.”

They don’t do much—Thor spends a good fifteen minutes teaching Steve how to tape his knuckles and insisting Steve do it every time he comes to work out, talking about injury prevention and getting the most power possible. Then he makes Steve practice punching in slow motion, which makes Steve feel incredibly foolish.

By the time they get around to actually moving around the ring, Steve’s tired and worn out. He can see Bucky talking to the other guy in the gym—Steve heard Sif call him Matt—but stealing little glances at Steve from the corner of his eye, and Steve can’t even muster up the indignation over Bucky _still_ babying him a bit. It’s possible this is more because Steve just got out of the hospital two weeks ago and less about Steve’s general weakness.

Still, he’s invigorated as they head home. “Maybe I’ll get good enough to actually fight in competitions,” he says brightly. He knows it’s silly and probably a bit childish, but he can picture the crowd cheering for him, Peggy standing in front of him with stars in her eyes, Bucky at his side.

“Plus I can _really_ fight people who deserve it now,” Steve adds, and Bucky groans.

“You gonna get a spandex costume? Go fight crime in the middle of the night?”

“I could fight crime at any time of day,” Steve says, mostly just to get Bucky’s goat.

Bucky shakes his head. “Just what we need,” he mutters. “Another vigilante.”

Steve doesn’t really know what he means by that, but he’s too busy thinking up those bobs and weaves Thor showed him to care. They see their neighbor, old Mrs. Thompson, so Steve laces his fingers with Bucky’s.

“Good to see you feeling better, Steve,” she says.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson,” Steve responds. “Bucky’s a great nurse. I’m gonna see if he’ll wear one of those little dresses with the hats.”

Bucky gives him a sour look just as Mrs. Thompson asks suspiciously, “Is that a sex thing?”

“No—no ma’am,” Steve sputters out, face going bright red as he realizes how his words might sound. Bucky doesn’t stop giggling for an hour.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some nightmares dealing with death (nothing graphic; there's not even a dead body _in_ the dream), some mentions of people getting hurt in canon situations, and vomit.

“Ma?” Steve calls. No answer. He takes a step closer to his mother’s bedroom. The old floor creaks under his foot. It’s a warning. A cold sweat breaks out on his back. _Don’tdon’tdon’t_ his brain screams. “Ma?” He repeats, louder now. She’s not answering. She went to take a nap two hours ago and he got caught up and didn’t realize how much time passed but she’s not answering. He reaches out a hand to put it on the doorknob. He’s already crying. Why is he already crying? What’s going on? Why are his legs shaking? He’s just going to open the door.

His mind is screaming at him to turn around. _Nonono_ , he hears someone moaning. “Ma?” But he can’t reach the handle to her bedroom door. He can hear the moaning get louder and he tries harder to get his hand to the door but it won’t reach and someone’s got an arm around his waist and his eyes snap open and Bucky’s looking down at him worriedly.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, hushed. Steve can feel sweat and tears all over his face, heart pounding painfully. He gasps, sitting up so fast his head swims a little. He needs to hurry and go to his mother’s room and wake her up. He rips the blankets away from himself.

“Hey, what—” Bucky sits up too. “Steve, where are you going? You need some water?”

“I need to…” Steve trails off as the last grips of the dream finally recede and he blinks. He’s standing in the middle of Bucky’s bedroom in boxers and a t-shirt and one sock. His mother died years ago. He can’t rush off to her room and wake her up before anything happens.

His whole body sags and Bucky springs out of bed, looking alarmed. “Come here, sit down,” Bucky orders. Steve does as he’s told, and Bucky looks even more worried. “I think you had a nightmare or something.”

Steve chokes out a sound that’s sort of a laugh and sort of a sob. He wipes his face on his sleeve and clenches his jaw hard. “Or something.”

They sit there on the edge of Bucky’s bed for a minute, Steve shivering a little but not from cold, the room dark but for the little nightlight Bucky had self-consciously but defiantly told Steve keeps him from feeling too suffocated and claustrophobic in the dark.

“Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” Bucky asks. Steve jumps a little at the sound of his voice. He just shrugs. Historically, no, he won’t go back to sleep after that particular dream, but there’s no need to tell Bucky that. Steve notices belatedly that Bucky’s got Steve’s inhaler in hand. He was probably gasping in his sleep and Bucky thought he was having an asthma attack.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Steve murmurs.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Bucky admits softly, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Are _you_ going to get back to sleep?” Steve asks. Bucky shrugs and Steve huffs a little laugh despite himself.

“Come on,” Bucky says, standing up. He’s so tall, looming over Steve like that, his metal hand stretched out to Steve and gleaming in the light from a streetlamp outside the window.

“What?” Steve asks blankly.

“Come with me.” Bucky pulls Steve to his feet and gathers up his bedding. He leads Steve down the hall to the living room, quilt and sheets over his shoulder and tugging Steve along by the hand.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks incredulously as Bucky starts pulling the cushions off the couch. It looks like he’s making…  
  
“Blanket fort,” Bucky fills him in matter-of-factly. “Best cure for nightmares.”

“Really?” Steve can’t help but sound skeptical, and Bucky shoots him a wry little smile.

“I think I’m pretty qualified to talk about nightmares,” he points out, and Steve’s so tired and wrung out from the dream he can’t even dredge up awkwardness over putting his foot in his mouth yet again. Bucky finishes stringing the sheets across the back of the couch and the coffee table he’s pushed back a few feet, making a little tent over the couch cushions on the floor. He crawls down to the couch cushions and pulls the blanket over himself.

“Come on,” he invites.

“Bucky.” Steve feels foolish. He’s a grown man. Bucky doesn’t need to humor him like a little kid.

“Aw, come on, Stevie,” Bucky cajoles. “You’re gonna make me sleep in the fort all alone?”

Steve rolls his eyes and obliges, wedging into the little space that’s left. They do some maneuvering—Bucky needs his head uncovered, needs to be able to open his eyes and not feel penned in—and some teasing kicking at each other, but eventually they settle down.

Bucky wraps an arm around Steve and Steve can feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. This is embarrassing. He doesn’t cry in front of other people. He just doesn’t. But Bucky’s hand sweeps up to stroke through Steve’s hair and Steve shudders a little, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest.

He doesn’t cry against Bucky’s chest or anything _completely_ humiliating, but he clings to Bucky a little and squeezes his eyes shut to keep from letting any tears escape. Bucky just keeps petting his hair, and eventually Steve’s coiled muscles relax and his eyes get heavy.

“S’okay,” Steve thinks Bucky whispers. He’s drifting in that half-asleep place where everything feels slow and hazy, so he can’t be sure Bucky’s actually talking. “I got you.”

  
Steve wakes up on the floor under the coffee table. Bucky’s not as magnanimous in his sleep as he’d probably like to believe, and Steve’s subconscious must’ve rolled him away to get away from Bucky’s pointy elbows. It’s not as bad in a bed, where there’s room to put space between them, but the couch cushions don’t offer much leeway.

Steve grunts a little as he shimmies out from under the coffee table, and Bucky starts cracking up. Steve glowers, as best he can while wriggling on the ground.

“This is _your_ fault,” he points out. Bucky sits up, hair looking like a bird tried to build a nest in it, and yawns, rubbing a hand over his stubbled face.

“How?” He finally asks, voice all low and husky in a way that makes Steve want to crawl back under the coffee table because his own voice is low but never like _that_.

“You pushed me off the cushions!” Steve uses indignation to cover up his reaction to Bucky’s morning voice. Steve’s only human and Bucky is, admittedly, hot as hell. Adding a bedroom voice and expecting Steve to have no feelings about it just isn’t fair.

“I would never,” Bucky protests, smirking. “You musta pushed yourself off.”

Steve gives Bucky a dirty look. “You elbowed me all the way under the coffee table.”

“You want to talk about elbows!” Bucky shoots back. “Your bony little arms were digging into my back all night.”

“And how, pray tell, is that possible when I was under the coffee table?” Steve asks dryly. “My arms aren’t that long.”

“Your _face_ isn’t that long,” Bucky mutters nonsensically.

“Good one,” Steve says. Bucky flips him off with the metal hand, which somehow just adds another layer of snark to the motion. “Go make me breakfast,” Steve orders.

Bucky’s mouth drops open incredulously. “What am I, your servant boy? Make your own damn breakfast.”

“You owe me!” Steve insists, already standing up to head into the kitchen.

“I think _you_ owe _me_ ,” Bucky argues, following him and grabbing the eggs out of the fridge. Steve pulls the frying pan out and turns on the stove, then grabs bread to toast while Bucky’s cooking the eggs.

“Cantaloupe or honeydew?” Steve asks while the bread’s toasting.

“Oh, honey _do_ ,” Bucky jokes. Steve rolls his eyes but laughs anyway. He bumps his hip into Bucky’s to get him to move over so he can start cutting the fruit. Bucky keeps swiping the honeydew every time Steve cuts it, popping it into his mouth with a smirk, and Steve finally points the tip of the knife at him and says,

“Don’t test me, Barnes.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and deliberately uses his left hand to snatch the next piece. “Try me,” he taunts. Steve has to give him that one. His cheeks feel warm. The stovetop must be too hot. Bucky leaves him be and he gets a good pile of fruit cut up before Bucky takes the knife from him carefully.

“Eggs are almost done,” he says. “Go take your meds.”

It’s not until Steve’s in Bucky’s room, where his meds have been residing for over a week now, that he pauses and realizes he didn’t even get annoyed when Bucky told him what to do. Maybe it’s because he knows Bucky didn’t mean it in a hovering kind of way; he meant Steve should take his meds so he’d be able to eat when the food’s ready. Maybe he was just distracted by his rumbling stomach.

“You didn’t get up and run,” Steve realizes as they’re carrying their plates to the table.

“Rest day,” Bucky says around his toast. “But we can still go box later.”

“Will Thor be there?” Steve asks.

“Thor’s always there,” Bucky promises. “He owns the place.”

“He does?” Steve’s surprised. He thought Thor was around their age. Owning a business seems so…old.

“Well, he got it from his dad,” Bucky amends. “His dad was a big-time fighter back in his day, too, back in Norway. He sent Thor here and bought the gym so he could make a name for himself away from his dad’s reputation.”

Steve’s phone buzzes with a text from Natasha. _You and your beefcake want to do Coney Island today? Bring the other Army boys too_.

“How do you feel about Coney Island?” Steve asks, rolling his eyes at Natasha calling Bucky his _beefcake_.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty pro-Coney Island,” Bucky says flippantly.

“Natasha wants to go today.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. He sounds a little awkward now. “Well. Have fun.”

Steve feels his eyebrows draw together in confusion. He just assumed he and Bucky would be spending the day together. They usually do, if they don’t have other plans or Bucky doesn’t have his appointments during the day.

“You don’t want to come?” Steve asks. He keeps his face neutral. “Okay. I mean, yeah, it’s whatever.”

“I…” Bucky trails off, looking a little lost. “You _want_ me to go?”

For some reason that makes Steve blush a little. Why does Bucky think he’d bring it up if not to ask him along, too? “Natasha invited you,” he says quickly, then realizes it kind of sounds like he’s saying he _doesn’t_ want Bucky to go. But short of adding _I want you to come_ like some kind of child, he doesn’t know how to tell Bucky he’s not just invited, he’s _welcome_. Steve’s never been great at subtlety.

“Oh.” Bucky looks a little wary before he focuses on his plate. “Do you want to go?”

Steve bites his lip. For some reason, he feels like they’re teetering on a precipice here. His answer feels important.

“Yeah,” he says, keeping his voice completely casual. “If you do.”

Bucky smiles a little, head still down, then says, just as casual, “Yeah, it sounds fun.”

Steve feels little butterflies in his stomach and is so confused. He wants to ask Bucky what the hell is going on. “She said you should invite the rest of the Commandos, too.”

Bucky laughs a little and finally looks up. “Dernier is obsessed with Coney Island for some reason.”

It breaks the weird tension between them, and Steve laughs until his stomach hurts at Bucky’s story of the Commandos’ first leave in New York and how Dernier had spent six hours at Coney Island, eventually getting into a fistfight with one of the booth workers over a rigged rifle game.

Natasha wants to go later in the afternoon, to catch the sunset—her exact reasoning is “I need to get the best light for my Instagram selfies” and Steve actually can’t tell if she’s being serious or not—and Riley has classroom stuff to get ready earlier in the day anyway, so it works out alright. Steve and Bucky laze around for most of the morning and afternoon and then decide to hit the gym, a phrase Steve never really anticipated to be associated with himself.

“You’re back!” Thor calls out jovially when they walk in. “Barnes, will you be joining Steven and I in the ring today?”

Steve gives Bucky what he hopes is a challenging smirk, but Bucky’s eyes are darting away as he shakes his head.

“Just gonna hit the bag,” he says, already heading off to the same bag he worked last time they came in. Steve frowns at Bucky’s back for a minute, and when he looks back at Thor he sees an equally creased brow.

“He worries often about hurting others,” Thor observes. “From his time as a warrior.”

Steve looks surprised. “You know about that?”

Thor nods. “I was already living here when he came home. Were you? Did you miss the parade for him?”

Steve vaguely remembers a parade shutting down some of the streets. It was only a few days after Peggy left, so he’d been a miserable lump, and he’d also been in the hospital. Knowing Bucky now, Steve has no doubt Bucky hated every second of the parade. He shakes his head a little, looking over to where he can see Bucky taping up his hands.

“I trust him,” he says softly. “But he doesn’t trust himself.”

“It takes time to find that trust in yourself,” Thor says solemnly. Steve raises his eyebrows a little and Thor inclines his head.

“I have not been to war,” he admits. “But I have done greater harm in battle than was necessary, simply because I could. I was arrogant.” He looks angry for a minute. “But I was punished for my arrogance with my injury. And I’m learning.”

Steve can’t imagine Thor actually purposefully hurting someone. Sure, he definitely looks strong enough, but he’s been gentle—though not offensively so—with Steve so far. “I think you’re a great teacher,” Steve tells him honestly, and Thor’s eyes crinkle up into a smile.

“Thank you, my friend,” he says happily. “Now. Let’s tape our hands.”

“Where’s Sif and the guys?” Steve asks while Thor checks his tape job. Thor nods approvingly over Steve’s hands.

“Fandrul and Volstagg are working,” Thor says, and for some reason it strikes Steve as odd. He pictures them in Starbucks aprons and laughs a little at the thought. “Sif and Hogun are looking at some new equipment for the gym.”

“Do Sif and Hogun work for you?” Steve asks as he rolls out his neck. Thor is stretching his arms and Steve’s eyes bug out a little. Thor’s biceps are as big as Steve’s head, probably. Why is everyone around Steve so gorgeous? It’s enough to give a guy a complex.

“They all do, on occasion,” Thor tells him. “Hogun and Fandrul have other jobs as well. Fandrul is a model and Volstagg is a bike messenger.” Now Steve openly laughs. Fandrul as a model makes sense, he guesses, but the thought of Volstagg with his giant beard on a bike has Steve in stitches.

Thor laughs, too. “He sometimes throws his beard over his shoulder,” he confides, sending Steve into fresh peals of laughter. While Steve is laughing, hands braced on his knees, Thor punches him, and Steve gasps.

“Hey!” He sputters. Thor is grinning, hands up.

“You need to pay attention,” he admonishes, and Steve knows Thor is doing him a favor, teaching him to fight, but he feels his competitiveness rise up. He sets his jaw and raises his hands, darting around Thor as best he can, trying desperately to remember what Thor taught him last time.

They spar like that for a while, Thor blocking most of Steve’s punches easily but staying encouraging, occasionally saying things like, “Keep your weight even,” and “Do you have one hand or two? Use both.”

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, Thor drops his gloves. Steve’s panting, gasping for air, swiping at the sweat on his face, and Thor asks, a little concerned, “Ready for another bout?”

“What?” Steve wheezes. “You getting sleepy?”

Thor shakes his head, but he smiles wide, and they keep going for a little longer. Steve’s legs feel like rubber when they finally call it a day, and he swears he’ll never be able to raise his arms again. Bucky’s waiting at the edge of the ring, smiling at him.

“Look at you, slugger,” he says, a little teasing but not cruel about it, and Steve rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything else.

“Would you like to spar?” Thor asks. Bucky shrinks a little.

“Nah,” he says, would-be nonchalant. “Steve probably wore you out.”

“That he did,” Thor agrees, and Steve kind of feels like a little kid they’re humoring. He knows he’s basically a fly to an elephant to Thor, and he doesn’t appreciate them joking about it. But when he scowls and opens his mouth, Bucky raises his eyebrows and tips his head toward Thor, who’s turned around. His shirt’s sticking to his back with sweat.  
  
Steve feels a little smile steal over his face. So he at least made Thor break a sweat. He can’t help the twinge of pride he feels over that, and Bucky’s knowing little huff tells him it’s written all over his face.

They head to the locker room. They brought extra clothes, because it’ll be easier to head to meet up with Nat and Clint straight from the gym. Steve starts stripping down, shoulders only hunching a little at the thought of Bucky seeing his pale, bony chest.

Bucky’s sitting on the bench, eyes downcast, and he’s not changing. Steve pauses, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s learned to change quickly after middle school and high school, the taunts of his classmates teaching him how to mostly keep one shirt on as he slips the other over his head, but he never figured Bucky for shy.

“Are you gonna shower?” He asks. He tries not to sound accusing or anything like that. He knows all too well how daunting a simple shower can sound sometimes. But Bucky's been doing better about that.

Bucky purses his lips and shrugs. “I guess I’m pretty sweaty.” He casts a half-glance toward the showers, which are stereotypical gym showers—a tree of life, a bunch of showerheads together, no individual stalls or curtains or anything. His eyes flit down over his arm and Steve’s heart seizes a little.

“Well, I’m gonna be in and out super fast,” Steve says casually. “I want to talk to Thor about his dad’s boxing days.”

True to his word, he barely takes more than two minutes, and he rushes through getting dressed enough that he’s still a little wet and his shirt sticks to his chest. As he leaves the locker room, he sees Bucky plucking at the hem of his sweat-damp shirt, red-faced and jaw tight.

He emerges five minutes later, somber and wet-haired, and Steve hates how upset he looks. “Ready for Coney Island?” He asks as they walk out the door. Bucky looks over at him and forces a little smile.

“I haven’t been there in years,” he says. “Not since Dernier got us kicked out that one time.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Steve laughs. “I don’t want to get kicked out.”

“Oh, like you’re not used to getting kicked out of places.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

Going back to the old apartment he used to live in is kind of strange for Steve. Stranger still is the condition it’s in—it looks freshly painted, the broken railing on the stairs is fixed, and the elevator isn’t blocked off anymore.

“Whoa,” Steve says. “They finally fixed this place up!”

“’Bout time,” Bucky mutters. “Can’t believe you lived here that long while it was awful. They shoulda fixed it while you lived here.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m just glad they fixed it at all. There are a lot of older people living here and they shouldn’t have to walk up and down the stairs.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on the fact that Steve shouldn’t be walking up and down the stairs most days, and Steve appreciates that. They get up to the floor and can hear Clint shouting through the door.

“Take that, motherfucker!”

Kate screams back, “Suck my dick!”

A dog is barking inside. Bucky looks a little pained while Steve knocks, so Steve bumps their shoulders together. “Come on, your family’s louder.”

“I’m used to them,” Bucky points out.

“Come in!” Clint bellows.

“Unless you’re a murderer!” Kate adds.

“You can still come in and deal with me!”

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes the door open. “What are you _doing_ in here?” He asks. Clint and Kate barely even acknowledge his question, just hold up their Wii controllers.

“Mario Kart,” Bucky says knowingly.

“When did you guys get a Wii?” Steve asks.

“My parents weren’t using it,” Kate replies, eyes not leaving the screen. “They still haven’t even noticed it’s gone.”

“My parents have one,” Bucky says, noticing the slightly disgruntled look on Steve’s face and smiling a little. “We can play next time we’re there.”

Steve shrugs, a little embarrassed he was that transparent. “Whatever,” he says to cover it up, but Bucky’s knowingly little smile grows and Steve can feel his ears going hot.  
“Whose dog?” He asks to change the subject.

“Yes, Clint,” Natasha says as she comes out of her room. “Whose dog?” Her tone tells Steve he unwittingly just walked into an ongoing argument.  
  
Clint groans. “I don’t _know_ whose dog it is.”

“He’s Clint’s dog,” Natasha tells Steve and Bucky.

“He’s _not_ my dog,” Clint insists, swearing as Kate beats him and she crows in triumph. “I just found him is all.”

“And brought him home,” Natasha points out.

“And fed him,” Kate adds cheerfully.

“And took him to the vet.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Let’s go to Coney Island.”

“Are you coming?” Bucky asks politely as Natasha and Clint get up and Kate stays seated. It makes Steve smile despite himself. He can’t figure out if it’s Winifred’s influence or the fact that Bucky grew up with three little sisters and learned to include everyone, but either way, it’s kind of adorable. Kate sighs loudly and Bucky looks slightly alarmed.

“I have a date,” she says, the same way someone might say, _I have a root canal_. Clint cackles and Kate flips him off. “He’s a grandkid of my grandparents’ friends and I bet he’s horrible.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve tries. “He might not be so bad.”

“I think she’s gonna fall in looooove,” Clint croons, reaching out and tugging on the end of Kate’s hair. Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Leave her alone,” she commands mildly. “You don’t have to act like her big brother _all_ the time.”

“What are you gonna do with your dog while you’re gone?” Kate shoots back at him.

“He’s not my dog!” Clint insists around a mouthful of pizza. The dog whines at him and he obligingly hands over another piece.

“Are dogs supposed to eat pizza?” Bucky asks skeptically.

“He likes it.” Clint sounds a little defensive, and he must realize it, because he glares a little. Natasha sighs and tugs at his arm.

“The dog will be fine for a few hours. Let’s go.”

Sam and Riley and all the Commandos are waiting outside the entrance, talking and laughing, and they hear Morita tease,

“Let’s arm wrestle, fly boy.”

Sam flexes his bicep. “Oh, you think you can handle this?”

Morita flexes his right back. “Yeah, I think so, Air Force.”

“Hey, now,” Bucky says. “They’re pararescue, so they’re not total softies.”

Riley makes a comment about some soft things of Bucky’s and Bucky flips him off. His face is casual, but Steve can see how tense his shoulders are as he glances around at the crowds. Steve didn’t even think about crowds, and he berates himself a little.

He gives Bucky a questioning look, and Bucky nods. “I’ll be fine,” he mutters. Sam raises an eyebrow at Steve, and Steve just shrugs.

“So what should we do first?” Steve asks. Natasha already has her phone out, taking pictures, and he shakes his head a little. Maybe she was being serious about the selfie thing. Natasha still surprises him, even after being her friend for years.

Dernier immediately points to the booths. “I will win a teddy bear,” he says determinedly.

Dugan starts cracking up. “Why a teddy bear?”

“My mother collects bears,” Dernier explains. “I’ll send it to her.”

“In France?” Falsworth asks. “Won’t that cost quite a lot?”

Dernier shrugs. “My mother likes bears. I will win her a bear.”

Everyone’s lightly teasing him about it—Gabe keeps cooing _mama’s boy, mama’s boy_ like he doesn’t talk to his own mother every Sunday night at 7 sharp—but Steve can’t help but keep an eye on Bucky, who isn’t following the conversation one bit. He’s scanning the crowd, body tense, jaw clenched.

Natasha notices Steve looking and then takes in the sight of Bucky. She purses her lips and gives Steve a look. He shrugs helplessly. What is he supposed to do? He can’t just kick everyone out of Coney Island, though if he could he definitely would. He can’t suggest they leave—he knows Bucky would be pissed as hell at him for drawing attention to the whole situation.

They start walking toward the game booths, and Dugan glances back at Bucky over his shoulder in a way that immediately tells Steve he’s not as oblivious as Steve thought.

“Coming, Sarge?” Dugan asks lightly. Gabe and Morita both hang back a little and flank Bucky in a way that is deliberate enough to make Steve’s heart swell a little. He forgot, for a minute, that he’s not the only person here who cares about Bucky. They probably care about Bucky more than he does, even, because they’ve known him longer and lived through things together Steve can’t even imagine.

It works a little; Bucky’s shoulders drop a centimeter or two. But he also frowns; he knows what they’re doing.

“I’m fine,” he says stiffly.

“Well, I’m not,” Morita grumps. “This place is fuckin’ packed and I feel like someone’s probably got a bomb.”

“That guy on the corner over there has like three knives on him,” Riley adds, nodding toward the man in question.

“I have to pee,” Clint mutters. “Always gotta pee in big crowds.”

“The adrenaline,” Gabe agrees.

“See, it’s not just you,” Sam says. “We’ve all got stuff we’re carrying.”

Steve glances at Natasha to maybe share a commiserating outsider look, but she looks troubled. Steve is too, of course—their friends are having a tough time, and that bothers him—but she looks upset, and Steve’s not used to seeing that. He figures maybe Clint hasn’t shared his issue with crowds with her.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky says. “This therapy session over? I wanna kick Dernier’s ass at every game here.”

Dernier takes the bait and starts swearing at Bucky in French, and some of the tension dissipates. Sam shakes his head a little, giving Riley’s hand a squeeze.

“Your boy is so closed off,” he says quietly to Steve.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve says, thinking of the way Bucky will practically never talk to him about anything.

Everyone gets tired of the games way sooner than Dernier, who’s collecting a sort of small army of stuffed animals he’s won, so they leave him to it—“Oui, oui, I’m fine, go,” he says distractedly—and argue over rides.

“Let’s go on the Cyclone,” Bucky says, looking up. “Haven’t been on it since I was a kid.”

“I want to try that one,” Clint counters, pointing to a giant sling-shot full of screaming people.

“We can do both,” Sam points out.

“But I wanna do mine first,” Clint fake-pouts. “ _Daaaaad_.”

Sam shoves him. “Don’t call me Dad.”

“But you’re so responsible,” Riley teases. “I can’t wait ‘til we—” He stops, face filling with color as he realizes what he was saying. Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Were you…” He trails off.

“I…” Riley winces.

“Uhhh…let’s give them some space,” Steve suggests.

“Because, you know,” Sam’s saying as the rest of the group moves off. “I…I mean, I’ve thought about it, too.”

“Really?” Riley asks breathlessly.

“We’re getting old,” Natasha says mournfully, glancing back at Sam and Riley, who are kissing enthusiastically right in the middle of the path. “Everyone’s getting so grownup.”

“Our friends are starting to get married and think about kids,” Dugan agrees, kicking a crumpled wrapper on the path at Bucky. Bucky frowns and picks it up to throw it away.

“What about you two?” Falsworth asks, raising his eyebrows at Steve and Bucky. “Any little ones on the horizon?”

Bucky goes stiff beside Steve and Steve’s stomach drops a little. Steve does want kids, he thinks. Maybe someday. But it’s not exactly a great question to ask in the Steve-and-Bucky context.

“Jesus, back off, Monty,” Bucky says. “Give us some room to breathe. We’ve only been married for like ten minutes.”

Falsworth holds up his hands in surrender. “Just asking,” he defends himself. They get up to the front of the line for the Cyclone and Steve tips his head back, back, back to look up at it. His stomach gives a little jolt.

“I don’t think I wanna go on there,” he hears himself say. It’s not that he’s afraid of heights, necessarily, but it’s...high. _Really_ high. And loopy.

“Yeah, you’re probably not even tall enough,” Dugan cracks. Clint laughs and Nat sticks her tongue out at Steve as the two of them pile into a seat. Dugan and Falsworth get in, and Morita and Gabe grab the next one. The bored teenager seating people looks at Steve and Bucky expectantly, and Steve balks.

“Just go ahead,” he tells Bucky.

“Aw, come on, Stevie,” Bucky taunts. “You scared?”

Steve glares. He moves forward to clamber into the seat, as Bucky had to have known he would, and when he turns around Bucky’s absolutely smirking at him.

“Shut up,” he commands.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Bucky protests as he climbs in beside Steve, their shoulders pressing together.

“You were thinking a bunch of things.”

“Wow, Steve, didn’t know you could read minds. Can you hear what I’m thinking right now?”

“No, but I bet you can guess what _I’m_ thinking.”

“Wahoo!” Dugan cries as the car starts to clack its way forward.

The next several minutes are a bit of a blur for Steve, whose stomach clenches almost painfully at the first big drop and doesn’t really settle at all. He can hear Gabe screaming at an incredibly high pitch, Clint laughing delightedly, and Dugan and Morita doing their best to out-swear each other. Bucky doesn’t make a sound the entire time, but when the ride finally stops, he turns to Steve with a big grin that quickly falls away once he sees Steve’s face.

“Oh, shit,” he says. If Steve looks half as bad as he feels, he can understand Bucky’s worry. Steve wobbles his way straight to a trashcan and immediately throws up what feels like everything he’s ever eaten in his life.

“Ah, Steve, I’m sorry,” Bucky moans, his hand big and warm on Steve’s back as he retches again and again. “I shouldn’t have made you go on it.”

“You didn’t make me,” Steve manages to grind out between jets of vomit. “I wanted to.”

He doesn’t have to see Bucky to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Well, I’m sorry anyway. Puking’s awful.”

Steve groans and rests his forehead against his arm. “I think I’m done.” He makes himself stand up, although his back muscles are already sore from clenching while he heaved. Sam winces sympathetically. He and Riley were waiting for the rest of them and caught Steve’s whole show.

“Rollercoasters ain’t the best idea, huh?” He says, and Steve’s too miserable to say anything back. Bucky looks so guilty it might’ve been funny if Steve had it in him to find anything funny just then.

“I really didn’t think about your weak stomach,” he says apologetically.

“I don’t have a weak stomach,” Steve shoots back immediately. Everyone raises an eyebrow or two at that, and he has to concede that. Not only did his stunning display just prove it, but he’s got a medical chart documenting his ulcers that kind of backs up that theory, too.

“So I’m guessing you don’t want to go on that sling shot ride…” Clint ventures. Just the mention of another ride makes Steve want to moan again, but he swallows it down, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You guys go ahead,” he says. “I’m gonna…stay on the ground for a while.”

“We don’t have to.” Clint tries to sound bright but disappointment’s written all over his face. “We can go play some more games.”

“No, come on, you guys can keep going on rides,” Steve protests. “Go.”

Clint looks torn, but he’s starting to get excited again. “Are you sure?” He checks.

“ _Go_ ,” Steve insists. “Hurry up, the line’s getting longer.”

Clint whoops and runs for the line. Natasha rolls her eyes and follows him, waving her fingers at Steve. Sam hangs back for a minute.

“Want me to stay with you?” He asks. Steve gives him a look.

“Sam,” he admonishes. “Stop. I know how much you love rides that make you feel like you’re flying again. I’ll just feel bad if you stay with me. You want me to feel bad?”

Sam laughs. “Nice reverse psychology you’re pulling.” He glances up at the ride again and shrugs a little. “Alright, man. Drink some water, okay? Little sips.”

Steve nods and waves Sam away. “Oh, I’m pretty good at the aftermath of barfing.” He gets in a long line at one of the ridiculously overpriced food stands when he realizes Bucky’s still with him. “Buck, go,” he says. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t really like rides like that.”

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously, craning his neck to see why the line isn’t moving. “You seemed to like the rollercoaster just fine.”

“Well, yeah, sure, that’s a rollercoaster,” Bucky says very seriously as they finally get to take half a step forward. “But this is a sling shot. They’re completely different.”

Steve huffs a little, slightly irritated. “You don’t have to—”

“Steve, I’m not babying you,” Bucky cuts him off before he can even get the accusation out. “Why do you always have to be so…” Bucky waves his arms wildly, trying to think of an appropriate word. “ _Prickly_.”

Steve can’t help it—he snorts. “Prickly?” He asks. “Am I a porcupine?”

“Yes!” Bucky bursts out. “You’re a porcupine who won’t let anyone take care of him!”

“I don’t _need_ anyone to take care of me. I can get by on my own.”

Bucky looks frustrated. “The thing is, you don’t have to,” he says. He bites his lip, then puts on a smile, gesturing at the people in front of them. “I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.”

Steve rolls his eyes a little, but he can’t help but smile. They end up waiting in line for nearly fifteen minutes and have to pay $2.50 for a tiny bottle of water. Steve wants to change his mind, but Bucky won’t let him, and even buys some cotton candy, too.

They get back to the group, and the light’s just starting to fade when the fireworks hit.

Steve is looking at Sam when it happens, and he sees Sam’s body go rigid at the sound. Sam’s hand shoots out and grabs onto Riley, clutching at his shirt, and Steve remembers the night Sam got drunk and told him about watching Riley get blown out of the sky and not being able to do anything. _It’s like I was up there just to watch._

Clint shudders as another firework cracks into the air and lights up the sky. Dernier’s back with the group again, and he tips his head back to look at the sky, eyes wide. Falsworth’s face has drained of all color, Morita’s covering his ears, and Gabe squeezes his eyes shut. Dugan covers his head with his hands.

Beside Steve, Bucky has gone completely still. “We gotta go,” he says. Clint reaches up and switches off his hearing aids, but it doesn’t matter much; they’re close enough to feel the vibrations.

“Come on,” Riley coaxes everyone, knuckles white from how tightly he’s holding Sam’s hand. “We can do this.”

Sam’s mostly recovered—he was just caught off guard, because none of them knew there would be fireworks—but he’s still not letting go of Riley. Natasha puts her arm around Clint’s waist and leads him down the boardwalk.

“We’re at your six, Sarge,” Dugan says, voice only a little unsteady.

“I’ll take point,” Gabe adds, striding ahead. They fan out, and Steve feels like he’s seeing the Howling Commandos in action. It’s not hard to see their military formation.

The next firework is so close and so big the reverb of the boom fills Steve’s chest and gives his heart a funny jolt, and he almost can’t breathe for a second. People are _ooh_ ing and _ahh_ ing over the fireworks, and Steve wants to yell at them. They shouldn’t just light off fireworks without warning people.

“I didn’t know there would be fireworks,” Natasha says. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Sam counters immediately. “Absolutely not your fault.”

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice cuts through the crowd. “Are you Sergeant James Barnes?”

Bucky quickly shoves his left hand in his pocket, out of sight. “Yes ma’am,” he mumbles. She seems to take that as an invitation to come closer and sticks out a hand. Bucky flinches before reaching out and shaking it.

“I’m Christine Everhart,” she says. There’s a pause, like they’re supposed to know who she is, but none of them do, so she adds, “I’m a reporter.”

Bucky’s shoulders are practically at his ears now as he tries to turtle himself out of sight. “Oh,” he says. Another firework goes off and his shoulder, where it’s brushing Steve’s, tenses.

“You know, we tried to catch up with you on the one-year anniversary of your homecoming, but we couldn’t track you down. Your parents said you were unavailable.”

“I was,” Bucky says, eyes darting around. She waits, but Bucky doesn’t offer an explanation. “Go ahead,” he says to everyone else. Predictably, no one moves. Dugan’s glaring daggers at the woman.

“Well, how would you feel about answering some questions now?” She asks, pulling a notebook and a pen from her purse. “About adjusting to civilian life.”

Bucky’s starting to breathe a little faster. “I…” He straightens up a little, trying to find some bravado. “Ma’am, I’m a little busy right now. I’m on my way out.” It comes out soft and hesitant, a far cry from assertive, but Steve feels a rush of pride.

“I understand,” she says. “I can walk with you. It looks like you’re doing better around crowds. Is that right?”

Another firework explodes and Bucky’s chest is rising and falling too quickly and his eyes look cornered and something in Steve breaks loose.

“No,” he snaps. “You can’t walk with us. We’re leaving, and you’re not going to ask him any questions.”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” she points out, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if you have no manners,” Natasha counters, adding a glare that actually makes the woman recoil a little.

“Bye,” Morita says cheekily.

Bucky walks with his head down, face red in the streetlights, and Steve notices him pull his left hand out of his pocket and start pinching at his right hand, the way he did that horrible night. Steve’s heart seizes at the sight, so he reaches over and laces their fingers together to get Bucky to stop. Bucky shoots him a surprised look, and Steve just squeezes his hand. After a second, Bucky squeezes back.

They end up back at Steve and Bucky’s apartment, since it’s the biggest, with all the curtains drawn, watching _Far and Away_ because Bucky’s face is too downcast for Steve to handle. Gabe sighs a little when Steve picks up the DVD, but no one says anything.

Natasha sends Kate an SOS text, and she shows up twenty minutes later with three pizzas and the dog. The dog immediately climbs into Clint’s lap and starts licking his face.

“Ah, dog,” Clint complains, but he doesn’t push him away.

Steve wakes up in the early dawn light with his head on Bucky’s shoulder, one leg thrown across Sam and Riley and the other on the ground, where Natasha’s hand is wrapped loosely around his ankle. Her head is pillowed on Clint’s stomach, and Clint’s got one hand tangled in Lucky’s fur. Lucky’s head is resting on Kate’s thigh.

Steve barely even notices Bucky’s snoring anymore, but Dugan sounds like someone sawing logs. Morita is curled into a tiny ball, and he’s drooling. Dernier murmurs something as he shifts around, and Gabe and Falsworth are sharing a blanket.

Steve looks around the room at this random assortment of people at various spots on the floor and couches, and he shakes his head a little. It’s one of the weirdest mishmash of personalities, but somehow it seems completely normal.

Bucky grunts in his sleep and wraps his arm tighter around Steve. Steve’s eyes feel heavy again. He burrows in closer to Bucky, pressing his face into Bucky’s shirt, and easily falls back to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve and Bucky are making breakfast for everyone, and Steve is trying not to make it too obvious that he’s stealing little glances at Bucky’s downcast face, but Bucky catches him looking and gives him a wry little smile.

“Guess that answers my question about how well I’ll do with fireworks, huh?” He flips a piece of French toast a bit overly-forcefully and it leaves a splash of egg yolk on the countertop.

“You did great, Buck,” Steve says quickly. “Really. I’m proud of you.”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, well. Next Fourth of July oughta be fun.”

Steve hands him a plate to pile up the French toast. “We should go to the cabin again next year. That was good.”

Bucky starts loading the plate, not looking at Steve. “We won’t be spending next Fourth of July together.”

“Wha—” Steve stops. Oh. _Oh_. Bucky’s right. Their year will be up.

“Grab those eggs, will ya?” Bucky says flatly, turning his back on Steve and carrying the French toast out to the table, to the cheers and applause of their friends. Steve stares after him for a minute, feeling kind of dumbfounded. They won’t be spending next Fourth of July together.

After everyone leaves, Bucky gets ready to head out for a run and Steve starts doing the dishes. Bucky sees him at it on his way to the door and pauses.

“You can leave half for me,” he offers. “Do ‘em when I get back.”

Steve waves a hand at him. “I can do it. You made most of the food.”

Bucky shifts his weight around, antsy the way he gets before a run sometimes, and opens his mouth. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, but Bucky shuts his mouth without saying anything. “Alright, well, be back in a bit,” he finally says.

Steve finishes the dishes and notices Bucky’s water bottle, all but empty, sitting on the kitchen table, so he fills it up and sticks it in the fridge. Bucky will drink half of it in one gulp when he gets back.

Steve’s coming out of the bathroom, freshly showered, when Bucky finally gets home, not panting anymore, because he has the sense to cool off before coming inside, but definitely sweaty. He only runs in long sleeves, no matter how hot it is.

“We doing anything today?” Bucky asks. He makes an appreciative noise when he sees his full water in the fridge.

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs. “Didn’t have anything planned.”

Bucky caps his water and puts it back. “We’ll figure something out. I gotta shower.”

Steve feels restless, unable to focus on anything. He picks his phone up and puts it down. He doesn’t want to call or text any of his friends; they all had a tough night and are probably recuperating. He could snapchat Peggy, but she’s on a business trip in Japan and he doesn’t want to interrupt anything.

His eyes fall on the picture of his mother on his desk, the two of them at Disneyland in Mickey Mouse ears, and his chest tightens a little. He’s let himself find excuses lately. He knows what he needs to do today.

“Shit, we need _food_ ,” Bucky says from the kitchen. He’d gone from the shower directly to the fridge. Steve’s got Bucky’s routine pretty well memorized by now, so he’s not the least bit surprised. “Fucking Dugan cleaned us out.”

“Dugan’s not the only one who ate,” Steve points out distractedly, wondering if he should go to a florist over here or the one he goes to by the cemetery.

“He ate _six pieces_ of French toast,” Bucky gripes. “So much bread.”

“Clint ate a lot.”

“What’s your deal?” Bucky asks, suddenly right in Steve’s face, close enough that Steve jumps a little. “You’re not actually really listening to what I’m saying.”

“I’m gonna go see my mom,” Steve blurts. “I mean. Her headstone.”

Bucky takes a step even closer like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “Oh,” he says. “You gonna go alone?”

Steve rubs a hand down the side of his sweats. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s not like…” He shrugs. “I go alone.” He always does.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and Steve looks up, fast, to see if Bucky’s feelings are hurt over it or something, but he looks totally calm. “I respect that.”

Steve huffs a little laugh. “I talk to her,” he confesses. “And I know it’s weird.”

“I don’t think that’s weird at all,” Bucky says seriously. Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that. He knows a lot of people _do_ think it’s weird.

Steve hasn’t been to his mother’s grave in a long time, nearly six months. He feels like shit when he sees the brown, withered flowers he’d left last time still sitting there. Of course they’re still sitting there. There’s no one else to go visit her.

She’s buried beside Steve’s father, _Joseph Steven Rogers_ , and Steve gets that creeping, guilty feeling he always gets when he looks at his father’s headstone, because he was devastated at losing his mother but never really felt all that bad about his father’s death.

“Hi,” he says to his father’s grave. He never really talks to his dad. He never knew him—just a face in a picture, the reason for Steve’s blue eyes and, according to his ma, stubbornness, though Steve thinks maybe she might’ve had just a _bit_ to do with that, too.

He replaces the dead flowers on his mother’s headstone with new ones, an assortment of colors and types that would have made her eyes light up, and sits down on the grass.

“Hi, Ma,” he says quietly. “Sorry it’s been so long. Things got kinda…” He shrugs. “Well, you know. You’re seeing it all.” He tips his head back, resting against her headstone, and looks at the blue sky. “What do you think of Bucky, huh? You probably think he’s funny and you always said you’re a sucker for blue eyes.” Steve pauses, like she’s going to answer him. “It’s weird I only met him a few months ago. Feels like I’ve known him forever.” He thinks that over for a second, thinks about sharing nightmares and laughing at each other and throwing game pieces at each other during Battleship and finding them under the couch days later, and how in a few more months they’ll go their separate ways and probably never see each other again.

“I think he’s my best friend,” Steve says softly. “And I don’t even get to keep him.”

He sits there for a long time, hips starting to ache, sweating under the hot sun. He tells his mother about the comic he’s started drawing for fun and Thor and boxing and seeing Grace while he was in the hospital and how he and Peggy are going to Skype as soon as she gets back from Japan and Steve’s going to do his best to actually _flirt_ with her. His legs protest when he finally gets up, and he presses his hand to his mother’s headstone for a minute.

“I’ll come back sooner than six months,” he promises. “I’ll keep your flowers fresh.”

He looks up and sees William, an old man whose wife is buried three plots away from Sarah, and waves at him.

“Hello, Steve,” William says cheerfully. “She have anything to say today?”

Steve cracks a smile. William asks that every time. “Nah,” he admits. “But she’s sure a great listener.”

William cracks up, like they haven’t shared this joke a hundred times, and waves goodbye as Steve makes his way out of the cemetery.

He’s tired. He’s always tired after he visits his mother, the combination of emotion and the outdoors sapping him of energy. He always feels an extra bit melancholy afterward, too, even though the grief book his therapist asked him to read years ago said he’d probably feel a sense of closure and some peace.

He’d feel more peace if his mother was still alive, thanks.

Bucky’s bedroom door is closed when Steve gets home, and he doesn’t really know what to do with that. He and Bucky have mostly been sharing Bucky’s room lately, since they’re both sleeping in there anyway. It’s been weeks since Bucky’s shut himself in his room.

Steve hears Bucky’s voice, and then his laugh, and he realizes Bucky is on the phone. For some reason, it lays a little barb under Steve’s skin. Bucky has no idea how hard it is to make friends. People are automatically drawn to Bucky, even now, when he thinks he scares people. Sure, he has trouble in crowds, and meeting new people isn’t his favorite thing, but Bucky can charm anyone he wants to.

It probably doesn’t even bother him that they’ll “break up” and never see each other again. Bucky has his friends and he has his tight family and he can make as many new friends as he wants. Steve will go back to being the fifth wheel to two couples, even if those two couples are made up of people he loves dearly, and he’ll be all alone again.

Steve goes into his room and closes the door, lying on the bed that feels cold and unfamiliar now, and squeezes his eyes shut. He rushed into this whole situation without thinking. It’s what he _always_ does. He doesn’t plan, he doesn’t consider. Now he’s gotten too attached to Bucky and Bucky’s going to just fall away from him.

Steve must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows, the light falling through the window is different and his mouth feels like cotton. He groans as he pushes himself upright, eyes sticky from falling asleep with his contacts in.

“Hi,” Bucky says, kind of cautiously, when Steve emerges.

“Hey,” Steve replies, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Are you—” Bucky licks his lips and switches tracks. “How’s your ma?”

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Still dead.”

Bucky winces and Steve finds it in himself to feel a little bad. But Bucky nods. “Well, yeah, guess that was a dumb question.”

“I just…” Steve doesn’t know where he thought he’d go with that sentence. He shrugs again. “Fell asleep, you know? Got that weird after-nap feeling.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. There’s sort of an awkwardness between them that they’d finally managed to banish in the last few weeks, and it makes Steve want to scream. Bucky gives him an apologetic little smile, like he can feel it too, and then shrugs and says, “I stole my parents’ Wii. Want to play Mario Kart?”

Neither of them are any good, but it breaks the ice, and things are normal again.

  
The next afternoon, Steve’s drawing and Bucky’s reading when Bucky’s phone rings. The buzz of it on the coffee table makes them both jump.

“Oh, it’s my dad,” Bucky says. He puts it on speaker. “Hey, pops, how’s it going?”

“Did you talk to a reporter?” George asks without preamble. He sounds upset.

Bucky’s brow wrinkles. “No. Why?”

Steve whips his head over at Bucky. Why is he lying? But Bucky doesn’t look like he’s lying. He looks genuinely confused.

“On Saturday,” George presses. “You didn’t talk to a woman named Christine Everhart?”

“I’ve never heard of her,” Bucky insists. “What’s going on, Dad?”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. “She wanted to ask you questions.”

Bucky gives him a weird look. “What? When? What are you talking about?”

Steve’s stomach is twisting. “You don’t remember?”

The confused look drops off Bucky’s face and his expression goes blank. “When?” He repeats, voice flat.

Steve clears his throat, speaks up a little so George can hear, too. “On Saturday, when we were at Coney Island. When we were leaving. During…” He hesitates and glances at Bucky again. “During the fireworks.”

Over the phone, George’s sigh sounds like a rush of wind. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “She mentioned that in the article.”

Bucky’s eyes are starting to look a little wild. “Wh…what happened?” He asks. “Did I do something?” He swallows hard, breathing starting to pick up. “I don’t remember anything.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Steve assures him quickly. “You were even pretty polite to her. _I_ wasn’t.”

“Yeah, she wrote about that, too,” George informs them ruefully.

“Shit,” Bucky breathes. “Is it bad? What…I don’t _remember_.” He presses his hands to his temples, like he can press his brain into remembering, and Steve feels a little alarmed. He reaches over and grabs at Bucky’s hands.

“How could she write a whole article?” Steve asks. “She asked if Bucky would answer some questions, we said no, we left. That was it.”

“Well.” George clears his throat. “She wrote a bit about the fireworks and Bucky’s body language. And…” He hesitates a little. “She wrote about the two of you.”

Bucky blinks. “How’d she know anything about us? We were with a whole group.”

“She wrote about you…holding hands.”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Oh.”

Steve can feel his ears getting hot. “Do you remember that?” He asks Bucky, not entirely sure why he needs to know that right now.

Bucky squints. “Kind of? I remember it the same way I remember a dream, you know? Fuzzy.”

Steve doesn’t know if that response satisfies him or not. He doesn’t know what response he wanted. “But what did she say?” He asks George. “Just that Bucky was holding hands with a guy?”

“Oh, she did her homework,” George says darkly. “Found the filing for the marriage license.”

Steve and Bucky are quiet as they absorb that. “Is she saying shit about Bucky being gay?” Steve asks, proud of how steady his voice is.

“She doesn’t outright _say_ anything,” George tells them bitterly. “She keeps saying it _begs the question_.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “They all thought I was a hero when they could stab my brain full of needles and freeze me alive and I lived through it, but liking dick makes me some kind of demon.” Steve’s phone buzzes. It’s from Natasha, a link to the article. Of course she found it right away.

“It’ll blow over,” George promises. “Do you need to come home for a few days?”

“No.” Bucky sounds tired. “They know where you guys live. They don’t know about this place, do they?”

“They shouldn’t.” George is quiet for a minute. “I love you, James. And you _are_ a hero.”

Bucky’s breath hitches and he clenches his jaw. “How’s Ma taking it?”

George sighs. “Oh, you can probably guess. We’re going to talk to your cousin Adam, see about pressing charges for defamation of character.”

After he hangs up with his dad, Bucky turns to look at Steve. His tight jaw and rapid breathing make Steve want to put his fist through something.

“I gotta read it,” Bucky says. “I have to.”

“Natasha sent me the link,” Steve tells him cautiously. “Are you sure…?”

Bucky breathes out harshly. “Gotta know what they’re saying about me. It’s worse if I…if I don’t know for sure.”

Bucky crowds close to Steve so they can read it on Steve’s phone. Even the title makes Steve mad. _POW’s Hidden Secret_. She knew Bucky’s name at Coney Island. She doesn’t need to reduce him to what happened.

_Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has been hailed as a hero for his bravery while being held as a POW in Afghanistan. He was taken away for experimentation after sacrificing himself to keep the rest of his platoon safe, and the injuries he sustained led to the loss of his arm at the shoulder. Sergeant Barnes was the only prisoner who survived the testing done in the back rooms of the POW camp. Now, over a year later and with a prosthetic arm, Sergeant Barnes is home and adjusting to civilian life._  
  
_One of the biggest adjustments Sergeant Barnes made was getting married. In June of this year, Sergeant Barnes married Steven Grant Rogers. The Army’s hotly-contested Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy was repealed during Barnes’ time in the service, yet he never came out and revealed himself as gay. It begs the question—is Barnes really who he says he is? What else is he hiding about himself, or about his time as a prisoner?_  
  
_Even harmless summer fireworks at Coney Island—the epitome of innocence and fun for most people—had Barnes in obvious distress. And it’s hard to forget how he reacted to his medal ceremony (click for video). Both Barnes and his new husband were hostile to members of the press, unwilling to comment. Barnes’s husband snapped at reporters and insisted they leave._  
  
_Barnes’s chosen companion himself is another matter of interest. At five-foot-five, 120 pounds, and with a history of chronic illness, Steven Rogers seems an easy target for aggression and violence, unable to protect or defend himself. Could this be a purposeful choice on Barnes’ part so that he can easily dominate and control his partner? Is Barnes the hero we’ve been led to believe he is, protecting those weaker than himself, or is there something more sinister lurking under the surface?_  
  
“This is bullshit!” Steve bursts out, slamming his phone down on the coffee table.  
  
“I know,” Bucky agrees angrily. “You’re not an easy target!”  
  
Steve huffs exasperatedly. “Bucky, that’s not the part I’m mad about. I don’t care what they say about me.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I do.”  
  
Steve glares at him. “Well, I care what they say about _you_.”  
  
Bucky shrugs, looking down at his knees. “Nothing I haven’t heard before. Probably true.”  
  
“Really?” Steve says sarcastically. “You like hanging out with people just so you can throw them around?”  
  
Bucky doesn’t answer, just clenches his jaw, and Steve feels his hackles start to rise. It’s a combination of what the article said about Steve himself—he can _say_ he doesn’t care all he wants, but he does, and he can see in Bucky’s eyes that Bucky knows it—and Bucky’s meaning under his words; it’s all coming back to Bucky thinking he’s dangerous. Steve gets up off the couch because he needs to pace a little.  
  
“I’m not afraid of you,” Steve says firmly, challengingly. “Doesn’t matter how many articles come out like this or how much you think I should be. I’m not and I won’t start.”  
  
Bucky shakes his head, but he stays quiet. Steve doesn’t know what else he can say. He can’t make Bucky believe him, and he can’t make Bucky believe it about himself. Steve slumps back down onto the couch beside Bucky and grabs his hand again.  
  
“You’re my friend,” he says softly, tiredly. “That’s all I know.”  
  
Bucky looks away, blinking hard. “Can we stop talking about this?”  
  
Steve sighs. “Okay,” he agrees. “Should we go grocery shopping?”  
  
Bucky looks like he’s going to say no, and Steve immediately wants to take the suggestion back. Of course Bucky doesn’t want to go out just then. There was a picture of him with the article, and it’s not like it was front page news or anything, but still. Bucky still struggles enough with being around other people; possibly being recognized for this kind of thing won’t help that.  
  
But then Bucky squares his shoulders and raises his chin and says, “Yes,” so determinedly that Steve feels his heart swell a little. Bucky is so much braver and stronger than he gives himself credit for, and Steve doesn’t think he can tell him that.  
  
At the store, only one person stares a bit too long, and Steve stares her down until she blushes and looks away. Bucky notices huffs a little laugh.  
  
“My hero,” he deadpans. “Captain America to the rescue.”  
  
Steve elbows Bucky, but hits the metal arm and winces. Bucky laughs at him, quieter than the laugh Steve gets out of him at home but a sweet sound nonetheless, and Steve marvels over the fact that Bucky does that—he worries about hurting Steve in a big way, but he worries about hurting _anyone_ in a big way. With little things like bumped elbows and noogies and teasing roughhousing, Bucky doesn’t treat Steve like he’s glass.  
  
Steve smiles up at Bucky, so happy they met and became friends his breath catches a little, and Bucky smiles back a little confusedly.  
  
“What?” He asks.  
  
“Nothing.” Steve shrugs.  
  
“What’re you smiling about?” Bucky insists, grinning now.  
  
“Just your dumb hair sticking up everywhere,” Steve says casually. Bucky scowls and smoothes a hand over his hair, and Steve laughs.  
  
Bucky snorts. “Remember how that article said I picked you ‘cause you’re an easy target?” He shakes his head. “That lady doesn’t have a clue.”  
  
“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees, heartfelt, and he wishes he could get Bucky to believe what he means under the surface.  
  
  
Steve’s computer pings with the Skype tone and he feels butterflies rise up in his stomach. He takes a deep breath and wills himself not to blush as he answers the call.  
  
“Hi,” he says, almost shyly.  
  
“Hello, Steve,” Peggy says, smiling widely, and Steve smiles back immediately. His efforts go to waste; he can feel the blush spreading over his face.  
  
“How was Japan?” He asks.  
  
Peggy sighs. “Oh, I would have loved to have more time to actually experience it. You know, just once I’d like to travel for _fun_.”  
  
“I can imagine,” Steve says sympathetically, even though he really can’t. He’s never traveled anywhere. He’s never been out of New York in his life.  
  
“But I did enjoy the food,” Peggy adds, because she never complains for real. “And how is my favorite city in America?”  
  
Steve grins. “The only city in America you’ve been to,” he points out.  
  
“Not true!” She protests. “Remember, we took that day trip to D.C. to see Sam while he was doing his internship.”  
  
“Oh, that’s right,” Steve laughs. “And we sat in the Library of Congress for way too long.”  
  
“It was a wonderful day,” Peggy reminisces, and Steve feels his blush deepen. Peggy had reached over and held his hand during the guided tour. He scoffs a little at himself internally. He’s twenty-five years old and he’s blushing over a hand hold. Ridiculous.  
  
“And how is Bucky?” Peggy asks.  
  
Steve winces a little. “Well, I don’t know if you got that last email I sent?”  
  
Peggy sighs. “I did. That’s terrible. Reporters are so often such vultures. Is he handling it alright?”  
  
Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. He won’t _talk_ to me.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I think he’s alright though. The thing about Buck is he doesn’t let things keep him down too long.”  
  
“Good,” Peggy says. “I hope he doesn’t let things keep you down either.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t let me get mopey, if that’s what you’re wondering.”  
  
Peggy fixes him with a narrow-eyed look. “Depression is a bit more than getting ‘mopey’, Steve.”  
  
Steve laughs, because it’s hard to feel anything but giddy when he’s talking to Peggy. “I was kidding, Pegs. Anyway, Bucky’s great. He keeps me on my toes.”  
  
“Glad to hear it,” Peggy says teasingly. “Wouldn’t want you to get lazy.”  
  
Before Steve can answer, he hears the front door slam closed and Bucky bellow, “Steve! I was walking past that gross little store you like and they had these one-dollar popsicles so I—” He breaks off as he pops his head in and sees Peggy on the computer. “Oh.” His face colors. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Buck,” Steve assures him.  
  
“Hi, Peggy,” Bucky adds sheepishly.  
  
“Hello there, Bucky. Is the store you were talking about one of those little bodegas without air conditioning Steve likes so much?”  
  
Bucky laughs and Steve rolls his eyes. “They keep the doors open for stray cats and dogs to come in,” Bucky tells her.  
  
“Oh, I’ve been there!” Peggy says delightedly. “Steve doesn’t change his routine much, does he?”  
  
“Hey, I’m still here,” Steve complains mildly. “And I seem to remember _someone_ spending almost the entire hour I was shopping playing with a dog that wandered in,” he reminds Bucky. He doesn't add the part about Bucky needing to sit near the doorway the whole time because the bodega is too small and he was feeling claustrophobic and the dog was helping. It seems like it would bring the mood down. Bucky rolls his eyes and slides a popsicle into his mouth. It stains his lips right away.  
  
“Whatever,” he says lazily, slurping. “You want one?” He holds up another popsicle. “I got you one of the red, white, and blue ones since you’re Captain America and all.”  
  
“Uh…” Steve’s staring at Bucky’s lips. Steve knows they must be bright red, even though he knows he doesn’t see them the way everyone else does. Still, he can see the contrast, and he wants to draw it. “Not right now,” he decides, forgetting to even react to Bucky’s teasing about Captain America.  
  
“Alright,” Bucky says. “I’ll put it in the freezer.”  
  
“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says. Bucky leaves the popsicle in his mouth and waves at Peggy.  
  
“Nice talking to ya, Carter,” Bucky says around the popsicle.  
  
“You too, Barnes,” Peggy says back mock-seriously. Bucky grins and backs out of the room.  
  
“Oh, and it’s sugar free!” Bucky calls from the hallway. “Because I’m that great!”  
  
Steve huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes before he turns back to Peggy.  
  
“Well, he brings you patriotic sweets,” Peggy teases. “Must be nice.”  
  
Steve laughs a little, starting to blush. “I think he worries I don’t eat enough.”  
  
“We all worry that,” Peggy tells him. “Especially when you get drawing or painting and lose track of time.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, flapping a hand. “You sound like Sam.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Peggy says loftily, and Steve can’t help but laugh.  
  
“Yeah, fine, gang up on me, whatever.”  
  
“It takes all of us to match you,” she tells him. Her smile is fond and Steve has to duck his head, blushing and biting his lip to keep his smile down. He can hear Bucky puttering around in the kitchen for the rest of the Skype call, and it’s kind of distracting.  
  
After he ends the call with Peggy, Steve goes to get his popsicle. Bucky wiggles his eyebrows at Steve.  
  
“So how’s that going?” He asks.  
  
“How’s what going?” Steve asks.  
  
“You and Peggy.” Bucky leans back against the counter. “You two looked pretty cute.”  
  
Steve shrugs. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Aw, pal, she’s nuts for you.” Bucky’s smiling, looking just to the left of Steve, and Steve glances behind him to see what Bucky’s looking at. There’s nothing there.  
  
“She could have anyone she wants,” Steve protests. “Why would she choose me?”  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes. “She could have anyone she wants,” he mocks. “Why would she choose a guy who’s funny and stands up for what he believes in and helps people no matter what and could kill with that smile?”  
  
Steve shakes his head. “Come on, Buck.” It's not fair for Bucky to tease him like that, especially not when Bucky's so great for real.  
  
“Come on what?” Bucky asks. “It’s true. Anyone’d be lucky to have you, okay? And anyone who says different’s gonna have to deal with me. Now eat your fucking sugar-free popsicle. I went into the bodega _by myself_ for that.”  
  
“Oh, thank you, Bucky, you’re my hero, Bucky, what would I do without you, Bucky?” Steve says sweetly.  
  
Bucky nods. “Your eternal gratitude is noted and appreciated.”  
  
“Whoa.” Steve holds up his hands. “Who said eternal? That’s some serious shit.”  
  
“Did I not mention I went into the very _small_ , very _claustrophobic_ bodega _all alone_ and I didn’t even freak out?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow, and Steve has to snort.  
  
“And you’re so modest about your accomplishments, too.”  
  
“Modesty is one of my best traits,” Bucky agrees, completely deadpan. Steve throws his popsicle wrapper at him.  
  
  
A few days later, Bucky slips out of bed even earlier than usual, and Steve gives out a sleepy groan when Bucky disentangles himself.  
  
“Sorry,” Bucky whispers. “Go back to sleep. I gotta go to the school bookstore today to get my books.”  
  
“Ugh,” Steve grumbles, not even opening his eyes. But then Bucky’s words make it through the fog of sleep in his brain and he sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Wait, you’re buying your books from the campus bookstore?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, brow winkled. “Where else would I get them?”  
  
Steve shakes his head. “Why don’t you just set your money on fire instead?” Bucky looks nonplussed and Steve forces himself out of bed, even though his bones are aching in the way that means he needs to sleep a little longer. “I know a bunch of websites you can use to find used books for way cheaper.”  
  
He looks around blearily, blindly trying to find his glasses on the bedside table, and Bucky laughs at him and hands them over. Steve gives him a dirty look but doesn’t bother trying to muster up the energy to say anything as he puts in his hearing aid.  
  
When he gets himself together enough to follow Bucky out to the living room, Bucky’s already got a toasted bagel and a glass of orange juice waiting for him. They take their meds side-by-side, Steve’s handful of pills more extensive than Bucky’s, and after Steve eats his bagel he feels a little more awake and alive.  
  
“Okay,” he says, swiping at his bottom lip with his tongue to catch some peanut butter. “Let’s get your books.” Bucky’s blushing, and Steve worries that he made Bucky feel stupid or something, like he’s not being normal, so he adds, “It’s really no big deal to get the used ones online. Everyone does it. It’s not worth what they charge at the bookstore.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky says, but his voice still sounds funny and he’s not looking Steve in the eye. Steve doesn’t know what he can do about that, so he decides to do what he does best—just plow forward. He leads Bucky to the couch, grabbing Bucky’s computer from the coffee table. He wakes it and puts in the password, _flyingcar41_ , which he will never let Bucky live down, and they get to work.  
  
They get two books in before they’re arguing, which probably shouldn’t be surprising. “No, no, no,” Bucky protests as Steve clicks on the cheapest version of the book. “That one’s only acceptable. Why not the very good one?”  
  
“The very good one is ten bucks more!” Steve points out. “And the only difference is probably that acceptable has more notes in the margin.”  
  
“Maybe I don’t want notes in the margin,” Bucky says. “Look how that worked out for Harry Potter.”  
  
Steve snorts out a laugh at that. “Yeah, well, don’t go around practicing spells you find in the margins and you’ll be fine. Notes in the margin are good,” he assures Bucky. “They can save you when you get called on in class.”  
  
Bucky wrinkles his brow. “I don’t want someone else’s answers.”  
  
Steve sighs. “Fine,” he relents. “Your books, your money, your choice.” He gets the very good copy and Bucky looks happier. “Are you and Bailey going to share the book for US government class?” Steve asks.  
  
Bucky and Bailey are both going to be freshmen, so they’re taking a required freshman class together, which Winifred tells anyone who stands in her general vicinity for longer than ten seconds with her hands clasped together and a sappy look on her face that makes Bucky roll his eyes. It _is_ pretty adorable, Steve has to admit.  
  
“Oh,” Bucky says. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, if you’re taking the class together you might as well share the book.”  
  
“But how will we both get our homework done? What if I take too long doing it and then she can’t?”  
  
Steve tries not to give Bucky an incredulous look. What a stereotypical anxious freshman, actually planning on doing homework. Then again, Bucky’s a huge nerd, so Steve won’t be surprised one bit if Bucky does all the required reading and more.  
  
“You can just coordinate that,” Steve suggests. “She is your sister. I think you can handle sharing a book.”  
  
Bucky makes a face. “Well, we didn’t handle sharing a bathroom very well.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. “No one’s bodily functions are going into the book. At least I _hope_ not.”  
  
Bucky laughs and knocks his shoulder into Steve’s. “Gross.” He pulls out his phone and texts Bailey, but after a minute when she hasn’t answered, texts Winifred. She answers immediately, and Bucky shakes his head when he reads her reply. He shows Steve the screen.  
  
_Yes share the book, I’ll buy it. Are you buying your books right now???? So cute….send pics….my college boy…love Mom._  
  
Steve laughs hard, especially at Bucky’s exasperated face. “Well, come on,” Steve goads, pulling out his own phone. “Pose, college boy.”  
  
“Stop,” Bucky groans.  
  
“But really,” Steve says. “We should commemorate this.”  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes, but obligingly takes the computer when Steve passes it to him, tilting it to show his shopping cart full of textbooks and putting on a cheesy face with his mouth open. Steve sends it to Winifred.  
  
Bucky puts the computer back on their knees and crowds up close to Steve. “If I have to take one, so do you,” he says triumphantly. Steve squawks.  
  
“It’s not _my_ first time buying books!” He protests, trying to brush his bangs into something approximating order.  
  
“But it’s your first time helping me buy books,” Bucky says innocently. “It’s a big day, Stevie. Gotta catch this one on camera.”  
  
Steve scowls at him but tips his head in closer to Bucky’s obediently. He even smiles, though he knows he looks like a total dork. He can feel Bucky’s stubble rubbing against his cheek where their faces are touching, and he can’t stop focusing on the feeling.  
  
Bucky laughs as he looks down at the picture of the two of them. Steve’s phone buzzes twice in a row, one text from Winifred and one from Bucky with the picture in it.  
  
Winifred is gushing over how cute Bucky is and thanking Steve for sending the picture. He shows Bucky and Bucky laughs but winces. “She’s probably going to print it out,” he whines.  
  
Steve looks at the picture of them. It’s a completely ridiculous picture—his hair is, in fact, unruly, but he doesn’t feel too bad because Bucky’s is way worse; Steve looks extra small, swamped in Bucky’s old Army shirt and next to Bucky himself, who is muscular and beefy; Steve’s glasses are so thick they make his eyes look like bug’s eyes; Bucky’s nose is scrunched up and his eyes are almost completely closed—but Steve can’t help the smile that takes over his face when he looks at the picture.  
  
It’s such a stark contrast to the first pictures they took together, at Steve’s old apartment, trying to fabricate a relationship and looking awkward and angry. It’s so strange how things can change so much in such a short time. He hardly wanted to think about Bucky then, and now they spend practically every minute together and Steve has no complaints about it.  
  
Well, Steve reflects later when Bucky blue-shells him during Mario Kart, _almost_ no complaints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is still oblivious but pining shall commence whether he realizes it or not.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve squints down at his phone. “Is Beth back from camp?” He asks Bucky.

“Not until tomorrow,” Bucky says, frowning at his own phone and shaking his head a little. If Steve weren’t such a good person, he’d crane his neck just an inch or so and see who Bucky’s talking to. But he is a good person. So he doesn’t. Even though Bucky’s been on the phone a lot lately and Steve wants to know who he’s talking to and it wouldn’t be hard for Steve to see if he just looked over.

But he doesn’t.

“Why?” Bucky adds, finishing his text and locking his screen.

“She just texted me,” Steve says.

Bucky laughs a little. “What’d she say?”

Steve tries to decipher the text. “Random things,” he says. “Hotel India delta Oscar Yankee Oscar uniform Mike India Sierra Sierra Mike echo.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Hi, do you miss me?”

“She took the time to spell that out in military letters?”

“It’s the phonetic alphabet,” Bucky corrects. “And yes. She loves doing that. She was only eleven when I first left and she used to write me whole letters like that.”

Steve smiles at the mental image. He doesn’t know for sure what Beth looked like at age eleven, but he’s positive she was adorable, and the thought of her dutifully writing letters to Bucky warms something in his chest. “Well, why’d she text _me_?” He asks.

Bucky shrugs. “She likes you.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Jesus, Stevie, you got some kind of complex or something,” Bucky complains.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I mean _how_? She doesn’t even really know me. She’s been gone for most of the summer.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Well, I used to break phones a lot when I first got the arm so she probably figures I might have a new number by now. Plus Beth’s sweeter than the rest of us. She likes people right away. Doesn’t make you prove yourself like Becca and Bailey do. She’s like my ma.”

“Does your dad make people prove themselves?” Steve asks.

Bucky snorts. “Dad doesn’t make people prove themselves and he doesn’t like people right away. He just wants to read.”

“Oh, so that’s where you get it,” Steve says without thinking.

“Get what?” Bucky asks.

Steve huffs. “Well, you’re a huge nerd.”

Bucky stares at him for a minute, then starts cracking up. “Coming from the guy who made us watch the Discovery channel for three hours yesterday.”

“Um, I made us watch Discovery channel because I was tired of your boring History Channel,” Steve reminds him.

“You liked the aliens guy!”

Steve starts laughing. He can’t help it. Bucky sounds so defensive of the History Channel and it’s only proving Steve’s point. Bucky starts laughing because Steve’s laughing and then they can’t stop.

“Nerd,” Steve wheezes.

“Punk,” Bucky shoots back, shoving Steve.

“Jerk.”

Steve’s phone buzzes again, and it’s another message from Beth. It’s also written in the phonetic alphabet, so he just hands it to Bucky. It’s not like he couldn’t read it—he gets it, okay, the first letter of the word is the letter of the alphabet—but he figures Bucky’s better at it and Beth really means it for Bucky, anyway.

“She wants to know if we’re going to go up to camp and pick her up with Ma and Dad,” Bucky says. “I wish we could.”

“Why can’t we?” Steve asks.

“I’ve got…an appointment,” Bucky says, eyes skittering away in a way that makes Steve narrow his own. He used to think Bucky’s ‘appointments’ meant he was going to therapy or something, but it doesn’t seem like he’d be so cagey about the VA, not when Steve knows he goes and Steve is friends with Sam.

“Well, I don’t,” Steve points out. “I can go.”

Bucky gives him an incredulous look. “You want to ride two hours with just my parents and then two hours back with my parents and Beth?”

Steve shrugs. “I like your parents.”

Bucky ducks his head, smiling softly in a way that makes Steve blush a little. It’s not that big of a deal. Bucky’s parents are nice. “Alright,” Bucky says. “I’ll tell ‘em.”

The next day, however, Steve’s second-guessing himself. And triple-guessing. Yet again, he didn’t think. Bucky’s parents are going to think it’s _weird_ that Steve came without Bucky. They know the truth; they know Steve doesn’t need to try to fit into their family. They’re going to wonder why he’s riding with them. They’re going to wish he wasn’t there so they could talk about…whatever it is couples talk about when they’ve been married for twenty-six years. Their property taxes or something.

“Hi, Steve!” Winifred calls out as soon as Steve comes out the front door. He’s not even down the steps yet. George is waving out the window the same way he was waving at Bailey’s graduation.

“Oh, God,” Bucky mutters, but he’s smiling faintly. “Good luck.” Louder, he calls out, “Hiya Ma. Pops.”

“I wish you could come with us,” Winifred says as Steve and Bucky start walking down the stairs. “We don’t get to spend as much time with you now that you moved out.”

Steve, absurdly, feels slightly guilty, then shakes his head at himself a little. It’s not like it’s his fault Bucky moved out.

“I’ll be there for the big dinner tonight,” Bucky promises. “And I’ll be there early to help out. I’ll chop whatever you need chopped and you can gossip about the neighbors.”

“I don’t _gossip_ ,” Winifred protests. “I just keep you _updated_.”

George laughs fondly. “Whether or not anyone asks for updates.”

Winifred shakes her head. “Whatever.” For some reason, that word coming out of her mouth makes Steve laugh, and Bucky catches his eye, shaking his head.  
  
“Good luck,” he repeats. “She’s gonna tell you all about Marcy Stevenson, this lady who lives down the block, and how she could do so much better than her no-good husband.”

“Can’t wait,” Steve says. “Good luck with your…whatever you’re doing.”

Bucky’s shoulders hunch up a little and he dodges Steve’s eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Do you want us to drive you to your appointment?” George asks.

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky says. “I’ll take the train.”

“Oh, James, come on, let us drive you,” Winifred insists. “The train is so full of people and you just know someone will brush up against you. You hate that.”

“I’ll be fine, Ma,” Bucky says, voice coming out a little strained.

“But we can just drive you so you won’t have to worry about it,” George presses. Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats. He forces a smile. “I’ll see you tonight. Go easy on Steve, huh? Don’t embarrass him.”

“Embarrass me?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s starting to get the feeling that maybe Bucky’s hiding something about this appointment, but he doesn’t want to push it. At least not right now.

“They’ll get all gross and mushy,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes teasingly. He opens the car door and theatrically bows Steve in, making Steve snort, though he can’t hold back his smile. “Have fun,” Bucky adds with a grin, and it’s real this time. “Tell Bethy I’ll see her tonight and she better take a shower first.”

George doesn’t pull the car away from the curb until Bucky’s rounded the corner, and he and Winifred exchange a little look Steve can’t read.

“He’ll be fine,” George murmurs.

Winifred takes a deep breath. “So, Steve, are you working on any paintings?” She asks, a little too brightly to be completely genuine.

“Yeah, I’m painting a sketch I did of the lake when we went up to the cabin,” he says, not willing to call her on her worry about Bucky. Steve can sympathize.

“Oh, the lake,” Winifred breathes. “It’s so romantic there, isn’t it?”

“Um…” Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. “Yeah, I guess so.” He hadn’t exactly been in a romantic frame of mind.

“A lot of good memories up there,” George says, wiggling his eyebrows pointedly at Winifred, and Steve knows now what Bucky meant by _mushy and gross_. He wonders if he’ll survive two hours of this. “Lotta couples up there over the years.”

“You know, Steve, we need to have you paint something for us,” Winifred says, blessedly changing the subject. “We have that big open space on the wall in the den.”

“Well, we can’t fill that space,” George argues. “One day he’ll let us put them back up.”

Winifred gives George a warning look. “He doesn’t want them up on the wall, George.”

“But he’ll change his mind once he’s feeling better,” George says tightly.

Steve shifts uncomfortably. He knows they’re talking about Bucky, but he doesn’t know what they mean, and they’re starting to narrow their eyes at each other. Steve can hardly think of anything he’d less rather witness than an argument between Bucky’s parents. Winifred breathes out loudly through her nose, exactly the same way Bucky does when he’s exasperated about something, and forces a smile.

“Well, we have a lot of room to fill, anyway,” she says. “So we’ll start thinking of things we’d like. What kinds of things do you paint?”

“Oh, uh…” Steve shrugs. “Anything, I guess.”

“You can paint _anything_?” George asks, not incredulous but more impressed. Steve feels himself blushing a little.

“I mean, it’s easier if I’m working off something—you know, a picture, or a model, or whatever. But…yeah.”

“That certainly opens up a lot of options,” George muses.

The first hour of the trip actually goes by pretty fast. Winifred does, in fact, fill Steve in about Marcy Stevenson, and Steve has to agree—she _does_ deserve better than her husband. George listens to the Beatles the entire time and sings along, and then George and Winifred sing an actual _duet_ for _I Wanna Hold Your Hand_ , complete with upper-body dance moves.

Steve records part of it. It’s hilarious and, quite frankly, adorable. He sends the video to Bucky. Bucky texts back almost immediately, which leaves Steve suspicious about his “appointment.”

 _Oh sweet Jesus_ , is what he says. _Have you gotten to the Beach Boys yet?_

 _No_ , Steve texts back, grinning. _What happens with the Beach Boys?_

 _You’re in for a real treat_ , Bucky promises. _I still have nightmares_. He sends Steve a picture of his face, grimacing in horror.

Steve laughs a little. Maybe it’s because they’re not his parents, or maybe it’s because he never got to see his mother in any situation like this, but he likes it. He likes seeing them, decades and children and a whole _life_ down the road, still able to be silly and in love. He sends Bucky back a picture of himself grinning and giving a thumb’s up.

They’re in the middle of _Hey Jude_ , and Steve is singing along too, when Winifred’s phone rings. She gasps and turns down the music.

“It’s Adam,” she tells George before answering. “Hi, Adam. How are you?” She listens, a frown making its way deeper and deeper onto her face, and George keeps taking his eyes off the road to look over at her.

“Oh,” she says quietly, shoulders slumping, and Steve’s heart falls. “Okay. Thank you for looking into it. We’ll see you at Thanksgiving, won’t we? Okay. Bye.”

She holds her phone against her chest for a minute. George reaches over and puts his hand on her shoulder.

“A defamation suit wouldn’t go anywhere, he doesn’t think,” she says. “That woman didn’t outright say anything about James that wasn’t true. Her opinions can’t be defamation.”

“But she was _implying_ ,” George starts, angry. Winifred cuts him off.

“Adam said it doesn’t matter.”

The car is quiet for a minute. Steve is fuming. “She can’t just _get away_ with it,” he bursts out. “She can’t act like Bucky’s dangerous or…or not brave and _good_. He is.”

Winifred turns around in her seat to look at him, and he suddenly feels self-conscious of his words. He doesn’t need to tell _them_ that Bucky’s brave. They know all too well, better than he does. Winifred smiles softly at him.

“He is,” she agrees. “And he’ll get through this just fine.”

Steve wrinkles his brow. “So we just let her off the hook?” He asks, distaste clouding every word. Winifred gives him a look.

“Of course not. No one gets to talk about my son that way.” The thunderous look on her face suddenly makes Steve want very much to stay on her good side forever. Or, he reflects, stomach clenching a little, for the rest of the time their lives are intertwined.

“Oh, the wrath of Fred,” George teases, but his eyes are serious.

The rest of the way up to the camp is far more subdued. The music stays on low, and Winifred keeps her hands clenched in her lap. Steve looks out the window, hating Christine Everhart and hating every bad thing that’s ever happened to Bucky.

The camp looks like something out of a movie. Steve never went to summer camp. He almost got to go one summer, as part of some kind of social services directive for kids from poor families, but he got the chicken pox the day before he was supposed to leave. In all honesty, he’d been a bit relieved. He already had to spend the whole school year with kids who didn’t like him; he didn’t really want to spend his summer with them, too, and he’d been worried his ma would be lonely all alone all summer.

They wade through the crowd of crying campers—some of them are crying at being separated, promising to email and write and find each other on Facebook, and some are crying at seeing their families again—and find Beth. Winifred and George must know the drill by now, because they walk like they know exactly where they’re going.

“Ma!” Beth cries when she sees them, running over and flinging her arms around Winifred. She moves on to George next, and then Steve. Steve catches an armful of teenage girl with a bit of shock. “I’m so glad you came, too!” She tells him. “I’ve been telling the girls about you all week.”

“You have?” Steve asks.

“Oh, yeah, because I brought some of the pictures you drew!” She gestures to the cabin behind them. “For decoration.”

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling a little off-balance. On the one hand, he feels awkward. On the other, he’s incredibly touched.  
  
“I’ve just got one girl left,” Beth says, leading them up the steps to the cabin. “We’re heading over to the mess hall to wait for her parents.” She opens the screen door and calls out, “Hannah! Wanna meet my parents and brother-in-law?”

 _Brother-in-law_. It sets something weird in Steve’s chest to hear it. It is, technically, the truth. It just feels strange to hear it out loud.

“Hi,” Hannah says shyly, standing close to Beth. Her hair is in French braids and her shorts reveal a scab on her knee. “I like your drawings a lot.”

“Thank you,” Steve tells her, completely charmed by her missing front tooth. “Do you want me to do one of you to take home?”

Her eyes get huge. “Can you?”

“Sure,” he promises. “Let’s wait until we get to the mess hall and I can sit at a table.”

“Wow,” she breathes, sticking close to Steve as they walk down a rock-lined dirt path. “You’re a real artist, aren’t you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” Steve says. He’s technically a professional. He gets paid for his art sometimes and he does have that degree.

“Steve is a phenomenal artist,” Winifred pipes in.

“What’s phenomenal?” Hannah asks.

“It means he’s amazing,” Beth informs her. Steve’s ears are getting hot under all this praise. “Hannah’s a great artist, too,” Beth adds.

“Really?” Steve asks. “Well, you keep practicing and you’ll get even better.”

Hannah nods solemnly. “I promise.”

Beth hands over some paper and a pen once they get to the mess hall, and Steve quickly roughs out a sketch of Hannah, making sure to get the dimple in her cheek, telling her what he’s doing as he does it and answering her surprisingly deep questions about his process. He finishes just in time to hear her cry out,

“Mom!”

She sprints away, into her mother’s arms, and then drags her mom back to meet Beth. There’s more fawning over Steve’s art, including the sketch he did of Hannah, which makes him feel awkward but also preen.

He leaves Hannah and Beth to talk with Hannah’s mom and George and Winifred and wanders around the mess hall. There are pictures all along the wall, spanning all the way back to, according to the caption, 1957, when the camp opened.

And then he finds Bucky.

The first picture of Bucky is when he’s about twelve or thirteen, gangly and kind of awkward-looking, and his wide grin shows off the snaggletooth he’d told Steve about. It makes Steve laugh, but not because he thinks Bucky looks silly—it’s adorable, and part of Steve kind of wishes Bucky had never gotten braces. He snaps a picture of it to send to Bucky later.

There are a bunch of pictures of Bucky, one after another down the line of the wall, and Steve gets to see a little timeline of Bucky going through puberty. It’s probably nothing Bucky would be thrilled to know is on display, but Steve loves it. He wishes he could have met the kid with the bowl-cut and crooked teeth, mugging for the camera and trying to look tough with ice cream on the corner of his mouth.

It’s not so different from how Bucky is now, actually; a combination of cool and dorky, sometimes trying too hard but always looking better than most everyone else in the room. But these pictures show a lighter Bucky—the innocence of childhood, yes, but also a Bucky who doesn’t know how horrible the world can be, a Bucky with brighter eyes that don’t hold shadows in them. Steve mourns that kid, the one wearing a fanny-pack and socks to his knees and a happy, unburdened smile.

The Bucky in the pictures gets older, until soon he’s surrounded by a gaggle of younger boys, all of whom are crowding around him and clearly clamoring for his attention. Bucky looks proud and happy, starting to muscle up as he gets to high school.

The last set of pictures of Bucky is a side-by-side comparison of his first day of his first year as a camper and his last day of his last year as a counselor. It’s a pretty stark contrast; a six-year difference, and a bunch of hormones and muscles and growing-up in between. The twelve-year-old Bucky looks a little scared but is clearly trying to hide it, smiling but not quite all the way up to his eyes.

This, Steve realizes, is what Bucky’s son might look like, if he ever has one.

Steve makes a face. Why is he thinking of what Bucky’s kid would look like? Bucky’s definitely not in any kind of shape to be having kids. At the very least, it’ll have to wait until he’s free of Steve.

And then the picture of a little mini-Bucky changes slightly; the hair lightens up to blond and the face lengthens a bit, and Steve’s stomach gives a funny little lurch as he realizes what his brain is cooking up.

Steve snorts at himself. What a weird mental image. That’s not even possible, and even if it were, it would never happen. Anyway, Steve’s still not even sure he wants kids at all, with anyone.

“Steve!” Beth calls. “Hannah’s leaving and we’re heading back to the cabin to get my stuff. You coming or do you want to wait here?”

“No, I’ll come,” he answers, giving one last look at the little boy Bucky used to be. He was definitely a cute kid. But then again, Steve wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  
By the time they get back to George and Winifred’s house, Bucky is there waiting, sitting at the kitchen table with Bailey. Jamie is on his lap, and the two of them have apparently teamed up against Bailey in a game of Go Fish.

“Do you have any fours, Jamie?” Bailey asks. Jamie looks at Bucky expectantly. Bucky smiles and shakes his head a little.

“Fish!” Jamie squeals delightedly.

“Oh, no!” Bailey cries dramatically. “I have to go fish!” Jamie screams with laughter.

It’s all so cute it makes Steve’s heart stutter a little, and he mentally rolls his eyes at himself. His emotions are all out of whack because of that weird moment where he pictured what he and Bucky would look like in mixed-DNA form. Also because Beth spent the entire two hours home singing camp songs and Steve’s patience started to run out by about the third minute.

Another reason Steve is glad he missed summer camp as a child.

“Hey, look who’s home!” Bucky says, nudging Jamie. Jamie’s eyes light up when he sees them.

“Everyone!” Jamie says. He wriggles off Bucky’s lap. “Beth! Beth!”

“Jamie baby!” Beth opens her arms and catches him, lifting him up and spinning him around.

“What, you’re not gonna spin me?” Bucky gripes. Beth laughs and shifts Jamie to one hip so she can flex the other arm.

“I’ve been lifting luggage all summer,” she jokes. “I could probably lift you by now.”

Bucky wraps an arm around Beth’s shoulders and gives her a little squeeze, then tops it off with a noogie that makes her shriek and twist away from him, Jamie bouncing in her arms. She and Bailey take Jamie to find Becca, and Beth says she needs a shower, which Bailey and Bucky both give a resounding endorsement to.

“Hey,” Bucky says to Steve, and Steve can’t figure out why he suddenly feels shy. He is, absurdly, kind of worried Bucky will somehow be able to see that Steve was imagining a kid of theirs and be freaked out.

“Hi,” Steve responds.

“You made it four hours in the car with them, huh?” Bucky asks. Steve laughs a little.

“Be nice,” he scolds. “It was actually pretty fun.”

Bucky grins. “Steve, did you sing with my parents?” Steve can feel his face turning red, and Bucky howls out a laugh. “You did! Were you harmonizing together?”

“Stop,” Steve says. “I’m totally tone-deaf. Besides being, you know. Regular deaf.”

That makes Bucky laugh, and Steve’s chest settles a little. He doesn’t know why he was being so weird a second ago. It’s Bucky; nothing to be weird about.

“Oh, guess what,” Steve says, almost taunting. “I saw some real interesting pictures up at the camp.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “No,” he says.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, pulling out his phone. “I especially liked this one of you with underwear on your head.”

“Delete that!” Bucky orders.

“Not on your fucking life,” Steve promises. “I’m putting that on Facebook.”

“Steve!” Bucky says, widening his eyes. “Steve.”

“Bucky.”

“Give me the phone, Steve.” Bucky reaches out a hand.

“No way,” Steve protests. Bucky comes closer and Steve takes a step back. “Get away from me!”

“Gimme the phone!”

Bucky keeps following him, so Steve keeps backing up, holding his phone behind his back, and eventually he hits the wall. Bucky’s suddenly right there, in his space, and Steve gulps a little. Bucky’s so close to him, a hand on Steve’s hip to hold him in place, Steve’s hand on Bucky’s chest as he keeps him at bay. Bucky’s eyes go a little wide, and Steve could almost swear they flick down to look at Steve’s lips. Which, of course, leads to Steve looking at _Bucky’s_ lips in return.

“Uh…”

Bucky jumps away from Steve, and Steve finds his heart is pounding. Clint, Natasha, Sam, and Riley are standing in the doorway, and all four of them are staring, open-mouthed, at Steve and Bucky.

“I—” Steve swallows. “I found some embarrassing puberty pictures of Bucky.”

“He won’t delete them,” Bucky adds quickly.

Clint laughs. “Dude, let me see!”

“Are there more here in the house?” Riley asks. “I’m gonna ask your mom.”

Bucky groans. “Come on, guys, I offer up my home and my family to you and this is how you repay me?”

“Man, the whole point of going to someone’s parents’ house is to see embarrassing kid pictures,” Riley points out.

Gabe and Dugan come in then, calling out hellos and shoving at each other to get down the hallway first. It’s not long before the other Commandos start trickling in, and in the commotion Bucky ends up on the other side of the room. Steve shakes his head a little. Today has been so strange.

Natasha and Sam are still staring at him.

“What?” He asks. He doesn’t feel guilty. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have anything to feel guilty about.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You took some embarrassing pictures of him, huh?”

Steve’s chin comes up defensively at Sam’s disbelieving tone. “Yeah. And?”

Sam shakes his head. “And nothing. This is a nice house they have here.”

Natasha narrows her eyes a little. “What do you think would have happened next if we hadn’t come in?”

Steve shrugs. “Bucky would’ve kept trying to steal my phone to delete the picture.”

Natasha opens her mouth, eyebrows drawing together, and Sam shoots her a look. She holds up a hand in surrender and closes her mouth.

"Steve," Jamie says, coming out of nowhere and clutching onto Steve's leg. "Pizza?"

"Yeah, we're having pizza," Steve assures him. "In a little bit."

Jamie makes a face. "Pizza _now_ ," he declares.

"I'm with the little guy," Clint says.

“Where’s Clint?” Winifred calls from the kitchen. Clint’s head shoots up, and he looks halfway between excited and anxious.

“Um, right here?” He answers confusedly. “I didn’t break anything.”

Winifred laughs a little. “Of course you didn’t. Do you want to help me make the pizza?”

Clint’s eyes get big in his head. “Yes, I do.” He practically bolts to the kitchen, and Natasha rolls her eyes, though it’s not hard to see the fondness there.

The den quickly gets crowded and unbelievably loud, the mixture of Bucky’s already-loud family and the raucous Commandos and Steve’s friends raising the noise levels to new highs. Clint wanders back out after a while, reporting that the pizza is baking and he helped make the sauce and everyone had better appreciate it, to which Morita replies that everyone had better be careful they don’t end up with food poisoning, which of course leads to Riley telling the story of Sam’s horrible food poisoning the first time they went to Vegas and Dernier adding a story about food poisoning in Italy.

Steve likes everyone there, he really does, but it’s still a bit overwhelming, so he slips into the kitchen for a little bit of respite, thinking he’ll grab a glass of water and regroup, but he stops when he sees the scene in the kitchen.

Bucky is, as promised, chopping vegetables for another pizza—Steve doesn’t have to think hard to picture the look of horror on Clint’s face when Winifred suggested vegetables on pizza—and Winifred is kneading dough. They’re standing side-by-side, talking quietly, and as Steve watches, Winifred laughs at something Bucky said and elbows him. Bucky laughs and shrugs, and Winifred reaches a hand up to pat Bucky’s cheek.

“Ma,” Bucky groans good-naturedly. “Come on.”

“I’m your mother,” she reminds him. “I’m always gonna baby you at least a little.”

“Can you baby me without flour on your hands?” Bucky asks.

“I’ll think about it,” Winifred says. They’re comfortably quiet for a moment, working together, and then Winifred dusts off her hands and says, so soft Steve can barely hear, “James, I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky’s shoulders tense immediately. “Ma, please don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t know what I want to talk about,” Winifred points out.

“Anything you’re gonna say about being proud of me is something I don’t want to talk about.” Bucky starts chopping more forcefully.

“James,” Winifred says. “We don’t have to talk about it. I’m just telling you. You’re doing so much better, sweetheart. You’re really trying. And I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky’s breathing kind of quickly, and he doesn’t say anything, just shrugs.

“And I wish I could go find that woman who wrote that article and just punch her right in the face for saying those things about you,” Winifred adds. “It wasn’t true, James. There’s nothing hidden and—”

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it,” Bucky cuts her off, tone accusing. “But you keep talking about it.”

Winifred sighs. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Bucky puts down the knife and goes to the sink to wash his hands. “That enough vegetables?” He asks, not waiting for a response before he turns away. Steve steps forward, pretending he only just walked in. Bucky brushes past him without a word, and Steve ignores the twinge of offense he feels at that. He knows why Bucky isn’t feeling especially chatty. Besides, Bucky doesn’t have to say something every time he sees Steve. He’d be talking practically nonstop, the rate they’re going these days.

Winifred has her head bowed a bit, and it makes Steve’s heart ache a little.

“Winifred?” He asks. She straightens up.

“Oh, hi, sweetie. Do you need a snack to hold you over until dinner’s ready? There are some crackers in that cupboard up there.” She’s smiling, voice bright, but Steve can see tears springing into her eyes.

He doesn’t really stop to think—he reaches out and puts his arms around her. She takes a sharp breath and then leans her head against his briefly, returning the pressure of his hug before pulling away. She swipes quickly at her eyes and forces up a laugh.

“Thank you, Steve,” she says. “Well, Clint’s garlic-crust pizza is almost done. Do you want to let everyone know?”

Steve watches her for just another second, the way she’s gathering herself together, and he nods. “Sure, Winifred,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

  
Two days after the big welcome-home dinner for Beth, Steve is crunching through a bowl of cereal, catching up on his Facebook feed and listening to the sound of Bucky biting off muted curses after dropping things in the shower, when he sees a link from someone he went to high-school with. _Mother of soldier speaks up_.

Steve’s stomach drops as he clicks the link.

 _BAMF mother strikes back at a reporter who wrote a disparaging article about her son_ , the article starts. _Read the open letter Sergeant James Barnes’s mother wrote below. Barnes is the soldier known for being held as a POW and losing his left arm._

Steve holds his breath as he scrolls down, glancing toward the hallway where the bathroom is. The shower’s still running, so Bucky won’t be coming out yet.

_Dear Christine Everhart, and anyone else who has something to say about James Barnes:_

_Every day, James pulls himself together and braves the world, even though he has been through more than most people can possibly imagine. He rides the train even though the thought of people brushing up against him terrifies him. He helps his father in the family store even when his hands are shaking so badly he can’t hold onto anything. He plays games with his nephew and sings his niece to sleep, because he wants to do anything he can to help his sister finish her college degree after having children. He misses nights out with his friends to watch his sisters play softball._

_You wrote in your article that there are things the world doesn’t know about James. The truth is you know_ nothing _about him. You read a sterilized, redacted report of things that happened across the world, and you think that qualifies you to pass judgment. The only conversation you’ve ever had with my son was when you were badgering him as he tried to escape a stressful, painful situation. You should be ashamed of yourself._

_You know nothing about James, and James owes you nothing. You asked why he didn’t come out after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed, and I’m telling you it is because James, as a whole, is none of your business. James enlisted in the Army to help pay for his college education and because he thought he was doing the right thing. He wanted to serve his country, and in return his country let him rot in a filthy prison camp for weeks without helping him, despite knowing exactly where he was, to gain political momentum. He gave years of his life, he gave a part of his soul, and he gave his arm, and you still want more._

_Just because you know his name doesn’t mean you have a right to know any details of his life. You hide behind your words and your computer while my son, and many other returned soldiers like him, steps out bravely into this world that has done nothing but hurt him. While James was away, I used to watch YouTube videos of soldiers coming home early and surprising their families. They seemed so hopeful, so happy, and the media attention was always positive. That has not been our experience with James’s homecoming, and especially not the media._

_If you want to make implications and sensationalize something to try to gain readership, you can come after me. Write about my father’s embezzlement conviction and the years we spent on the edge of homelessness in my childhood and how I probably married my husband just for his money._

_But know this: the next time you write about a “hidden dark side” to my son or the “weakness” of my son-in-law, I will not write a letter._

Steve’s eyes are so wide he thinks they might fall out of his head. He can’t tell what feeling is more dominant: his worry over how Bucky’s going to react or his complete and total admiration for Winifred.

Bucky comes out of the shower then, wet hair leaving water spots on his shirt, and stops when he sees Steve’s face. “What’s going on?” He asks cautiously.

“Uhh…” Steve doesn’t know what to say. He sees something like fear flash through Bucky’s eyes, the other article making him extra wary to Steve being wide-eyed in front of a computer screen. Bucky comes up behind Steve’s chair and leans against it, reading over Steve’s shoulder. A drop of water from Bucky’s hair lands on Steve’s shoulder, and he wrinkles his nose but doesn’t have the heart to push Bucky away.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath through his nose when he finishes reading. “Oh,” he says quietly. Steve turns his head, fast, to see how Bucky’s reacting, and their faces are so close they almost bump noses. Steve’s first instinct is to pull away, but he doesn’t want Bucky to think he makes Steve uncomfortable, so he fights down his personal space bubble and stays put.

“I don’t think she meant to do anything you wouldn’t like,” he points out softly. “She thought she was helping.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “She did.”

Steve can’t figure out how Bucky feels, and it’s making him anxious. “Bucky, she just loves you. She didn’t want Christine Everhart to get away with what she said.”

Bucky swallows. “So she threw herself under the bus.”

That makes Steve pause for a second, looking over the words Winifred had written. She _had_ thrown herself under the bus. Writing the letter at all had opened her up to the possibility of attention from the media, but mentioning only marrying George for his money is a whole different can of worms.

“They’re going to say awful things about her now, about what happened when she was a kid,” Bucky says, sounding miserable. “Because of me.”

“Because she wanted to do that for you,” Steve argues. “It’s not like _you_ told them that. You didn’t even tell _me_ that. I didn’t know.”

Bucky eases back a few steps so he’s not hovering over Steve anymore. “She doesn’t talk about it very much.”

“Hmm, someone in your family not talking about their problems?” Steve says sarcastically. “I’m shocked.”

Bucky makes a face. “You really want to play this game?”

Steve huffs a little. “Okay. No.”

Bucky sighs and they’re both quiet for a minute. “I’m tired of reporters,” he admits wearily. “When I was a kid I thought it’d be so cool to be famous. People caring what I eat for breakfast, wanting to know what I’m up to. Now I just want them all to leave me alone. You know how many results come up when you google my name?”

“Yeah, I do, ‘cause I did it,” Steve reminds him apologetically. Bucky forces a little smile.

“Right.”

There’s another beat of quiet between them, and Steve can’t take the look on Bucky’s face—he looks sad, he looks scared, he just looks so tired—so he gets up and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a little squeeze.

“Like it or not, people want to make things easier for you,” he tells Bucky. “We’ll take the reporters if it means they leave you alone.”

Bucky’s lips twist, almost a smile but a little too bitter, head hanging down and not looking at Steve. “I don’t want anyone else doing that for me.”

“Well, tough shit,” Steve says, making his voice light. “We’re grownups and we make our own choices.”

Bucky laughs a little and finally meets Steve’s eyes. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Anytime, Buck,” Steve says, and he completely means it. “So you’re not mad at your mom?”

Bucky shrugs. “I’m lucky she didn’t go find the lady’s house and egg it or something. She would.”

Steve laughs. “Oh, I can definitely see that. I saw her stink-face and I don’t want her to ever make that face at me.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky suddenly says. “I forgot to show you.”

“Show me what?” Steve asks. Bucky’s laughing, and it makes Steve laugh a little even though he doesn’t even know what’s funny.

“Look at this picture I took last night,” Bucky says, pulling out his phone. “Best thing I’ve ever seen.”

He shows Steve the screen—it’s Clint and Jamie, facing off over the last piece of pizza with no vegetables on it, and they’re both glaring at each other. Steve starts cracking up. Clint isn’t serious often, but he always is when it comes to pizza.

“Fighting with an almost-two-year-old over pizza,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “What a guy.”

Steve’s grinning up at Bucky, laughing a little to himself about the way Bucky’s hair is drying funny and with a little hint of wave to it, which Bucky hates, and agrees, “What a guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winifred should have signed that letter _Winifred "meet me in the pit" Barnes_ tbh.


	17. Chapter 17

“Come on, Steven,” Thor goads. “I know you can hit harder than that. Focus.”

Steve _is_ focusing. Or, well, he’s trying. But Bucky starts school tomorrow and he’s taking out his nerves on the heavy bag in the corner, and he’s pummeling the thing so hard the sound of it is filling the entire gym and making it impossible to think about anything else but the fact that he’ll be surrounded by people, _so many_ people, and Steve won’t be there to help him if he needs it.

Thor lands a hit on Steve that sends him reeling into the ropes, falling down with stars in his eyes and not in a good way, and Steve blows out a frustrated breath. He’s tired, and he’s out of breath, and his jaw is throbbing where Thor hit him. Bucky’s frantic work on the bag stops, and that, more than anything, makes Steve grab the ropes and pull himself back up.

Sif lets out a cheer. “I don’t know if I’ve seen anyone stronger than you, Steven,” she says, with a little laugh in her voice that makes Steve think she might be making fun of him. But her eyes grow serious and she adds, “You refuse to stay down.”

Steve shrugs, chomping on his mouth guard. “My ma always told me,” he says, words a little garbled because of the rubber in his mouth. “You always get up.”

Bucky goes back to taking out a personal vendetta on the heavy bag, and Thor raises his eyebrows at Steve, a challenge and an assessment at once.

“Show me that footwork again,” Steve requests. “I’ll get it.”

Thor grins. “You will,” he agrees.

It’s maybe ten minutes later when the pace of Bucky’s already frenetic punches increases, and Steve doesn’t care if Thor’s going to hit him again—he stops and looks over his shoulder just in time to see Bucky’s metal fist gouge the fabric of the bag, destroying the entire thing. Bucky stands in the wreckage, dripping sweat, panting, eyes going wide as he realizes what happened.

Thor laughs his booming laugh. “Barnes!” He cries. “You don’t know your own strength.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes. “Thor, I—I’ll buy you a new one.”

Thor waves it off. “You should be proud!” He points out. “I’ve never seen anyone rip a bag open like that, not even my father.”

Bucky’s jaw is tight. “Yeah, well, your father’s not a robot.”

Steve gives Bucky a pained look. “Buck, we talked about this,” he reminds Bucky. “You’re a cyborg, not a robot.”

That gets a laugh out of Bucky, and Steve feels pride well up over it. The laughter is short-lived, however, and Bucky’s biting his lip.

“Well,” Steve says. “I think I’ve been punched in the face enough. See you next time, Thor.”

Bucky makes a face. “You don’t have to leave on my account,” he protests, and Steve just barely manages to not roll his eyes. How does Bucky expect him to be able to focus when he knows Bucky’s freaking out?

“It is Sif’s turn,” Thor reveals with a shrug. “She thinks she can slowly learn my secrets.”

Sif raises unimpressed eyebrows. “You think you _have_ secrets.”

Bucky’s shifting around, anxious, as Steve slips between the ropes and hops down from the ring. Steve has to reach up to put his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and his muscles ask him blackly, _are you kidding_ , but he does it anyway.

“Come on, Bucky,” he murmurs. “Let’s go home.”

“It’s just school,” Bucky says, frustrated. “I don’t know why I’m so…” He blows out an exasperated breath.

They grab their gym bags from the locker room and wave at Foggy, Matt’s best friend, when they see him sitting on a bench, reading a thick textbook. He barely acknowledges them.

“Is it an intentional tort or not?” He mutters. “Seems intentional but what’s the standard…?”

Bucky makes a face. “Great. They’ve been back in school a week and he’s already like that. How am _I_ supposed to survive?”

Steve laughs a little as they make their way out the back door. “Well, I think law school’s probably a little different.”

“It’s been a long time since I was in school,” Bucky finally admits quietly. “I feel like I forgot everything.”

Steve takes his time before answering that one. Forgetting things is a more realistic fear for Bucky than most anyone else. He always writes things down and sets reminders on his phone, because he doesn’t trust his brain to do its job.

“You’re smart, Buck,” Steve finally says. “Nothing changes that. And if you can’t figure something out the way everyone else does, you’ll find a different way to do it.”

The look Bucky shoots him, gratitude and fondness and a little teasing thrown in for good measure, makes Steve’s stomach flutter a little despite himself. He pushes a hand through his sweaty hair self-consciously.

“Well, thanks,” Bucky murmurs as they climb the stairs to their apartment. There’s a delivery man waiting in front of their door.

“Why do we get so many packages?” Steve asks. “I swear, I’ve never gotten so many packages in my life.”

“ _I’m_ not the one ordering paintbrushes left and right,” Bucky points out. Steve rolls his eyes.

“I’ve ordered paintbrushes one time,” he shoots back. “ _I’m_ not the one ordering protein powder left and right.”

Bucky heaves a long-suffering sigh and wiggles his metal fingers. “Well I’m sorry that I need to build up my muscle to support my prosthetic, Steve.”

Steve snorts and waves a hand around. “Don’t try to get sympathy from me.”

“I would never,” Bucky promises. “I know your heart is made of stone.”

Steve laughs loud enough to make the delivery guy look intrigued. They get up to the door and he holds out the electronic scanner for one of them to sign. Steve gestures at Bucky and Bucky gestures right back. Steve would argue, but Bucky would have to take his left hand out of his pocket to hold the thing, so Steve glares at him but acquiesces.

They get it inside and Bucky grins, amused, as Steve immediately starts cutting open the tape. There’s a card right on top, on obnoxious Stark letterhead.

“Stark?” Steve asks, puzzled. “Why would Stark be sending us something?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, he made my arm.”

Steve’s head shoots up and he gapes at Bucky. “He did?” Bucky looks wholly nonplussed.

“Uh, yeah. His whole R&D department is focused on free prototype prosthetics for war vets, I think. Most of what I’ve seen is that kind of stuff.”

Steve can hardly breathe. “ _Seriously_?”

Bucky focuses on him instead of the package for the first time since Steve opened it. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Is that a big deal?”

“Is it a big deal that one of the richest men in the world made you an arm?” Steve asks, heading quickly into shrill territory. “Is it a big deal that Tony Stark, who has an empire built on weapons manufacturing and warmongering, is helping out war vets?”

Bucky blinks at him. “So…it is a big deal?”

Steve presses a hand weakly to his chest. “Do you know how much shit I’ve said about Tony Stark that isn’t true now that I know this? I had no idea he was a…a _good person_!”

Bucky gives him a wry smile. “Calm down,” he intones. “Meet him before you decide he’s a good person.”

“I can’t meet him!” Steve shrieks. “I protested outside his building every day for a month last year!”

Bucky laughs, hard, at that. “Of course you did,” he says. “Why am I not the least bit surprised?”

“Wait, was Natasha part of making your arm?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ve never seen her there. She work for Stark?”

“She’s worked there for almost two years,” Steve confirms.

“They’ve got a lot of departments,” Bucky points out. “Now, do you want to open this package or not?”

Steve shakes his head. “I can’t believe Tony Stark made your arm.”

Bucky opens the letter. After he reads it, he rolls his eyes. “Still worried about the stuff you’ve said about him?” He mutters, handing it over.

_Dearest Barney Bub,_  
_This is a very late wedding present, although it’s not my fault it’s late because technically you never told me you were getting married, despite the fact that we have been spending afternoons of passion together every month for several months. I had to find out because of a ridiculous gossip article about you. Though I was heartbroken at first, Pepper told me I had to send you a present, so here it is. May you get a lot of use out of it and may it bring you romance and whatever people wish for married 24-year-olds._  
_Heartbrokenly yours,_  
_Iron Man_

“He signed it Iron Man?” Steve asks, criticism thick in his voice even though he already feels bad for all the awful assumptions he’s been making about Stark for years.

“He’s a real big fan of his nickname,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Stevie, open it!”

Steve can’t help the excited grin that comes over his face. He just loves opening presents. He even rips off a strip of the wrapping paper instead of carefully lifting up the tape. Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

Steve shrugs, a little self-conscious. “Stark can afford more paper.”

Bucky smiles, but it’s a little crooked. “It’s okay to save the paper,” he says softly. “Don’t be embarrassed about it.”

Steve shrugs, face heating up a little. “Well, just this once, I’ll rip it off.”

Bucky’s smile grows. “Okay, then. Go!” He urges. Steve laughs and obligingly tears off the wrapping paper.

“Fondue?” Steve asks, nose wrinkled. “That sounds…” He stops himself. He’s been putting his foot in his mouth with unintentional innuendos lately. Bucky laughs at him anyway.

“Well, we can’t do cheese,” he points out. “No offense, but I’m not eating any of your soy cheese ever again.”

Steve scoffs. “I never said you had to! Anyway, it doesn’t melt very well.”

“But your chocolate does, right?” Bucky looks actually worried. “We gotta try the chocolate stuff.”

“Yeah, it melts,” Steve promises. “But what do we put in the chocolate?”

Bucky spreads his arms wide. “Anything.”

“Anything?” Steve echoes skeptically. Bucky leans closer.

“ _Anything_ ,” he promises. “Fruit. Pretzels. Bread. Fingers.”

“You eat fingers, Buck?” Steve deadpans.

“If they’re covered in chocolate, I might,” Bucky shoots back.

Steve bumps his shoulder into Bucky’s. “Well, I hope you wash those fingers first,” he teases. “’Cause you _smell_.”

“I think you’re smelling yourself,” Bucky says. “No one smells as bad as you.”

“I’m putting non-dairy cheese in the fondue pot,” Steve threatens.

“Miss your nut cheese?” Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve squawks a little. He throws the wadded up wrapping paper at Bucky.

“Go take a shower,” he orders.

Bucky wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously as he backs out of the room, and Steve shakes his head, laughing a little despite himself.

The levity doesn’t last into the night. Bucky tosses and turns all night, and it keeps Steve awake. He does his best not to let Bucky know he’s awake, too, but Bucky knows how light Steve sleeps and keeps whispering, “Sorry, I’m sorry,” every time he twitches and rolls over.

Even still, Bucky gets up early, and Steve murmurs out, “Bucky, just sleep, come on.”

“Nah,” Bucky whispers back. “Gotta do an extra-long run to keep me sane today. Go back to sleep, alright?”

Steve grunts and rolls back over. “Take your phone,” he reminds Bucky.

“Scout’s honor.”

“I don’t like the Boy Scouts,” Steve mumbles, mostly asleep already but still awake enough to hear Bucky's huff.

He wakes up a little later, before Bucky’s back, and forces himself to get out of bed. He and Bucky went out and got snack food for Bucky to take with him on campus, so he doesn’t have to brave the crowds in the student building. Bucky had assured Steve he could go the whole day without eating, but Steve shot _that_ idea down immediately.  
  
Bucky doesn’t like the feeling of being hungry, hates that stomach-gnawing sensation, and it’s not hard to decipher why. Steve can’t imagine his captors put much thought into whether or not he got enough to eat.

Steve shuffles into the kitchen and starts assembling lunch for Bucky, little things he can munch on all day, grapes and pretzels and a protein bar. He grabs a paper towel to put in the bag, too, because Bucky doesn’t like the feeling of his hands being dirty, and pauses. It’s going to be such a hard day for Bucky. He grabs a pencil that’s lying on the cupboard and sketches out a little doodle, something that’ll hopefully make Bucky laugh. It’s nothing special, nothing intricate, but he hopes it’ll help at least a little.

Steve feels a little awkward, in his too-loose sweats and oversized shirt, sending Bucky off with his lunch all packed for him, so he covers by joking, “Well, have a good day, sweetums.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re a real catch, you know that?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Good _bye_.” He goes back to bed for a few hours, because he can and because he doesn’t do well on low sleep. He wishes he could hold it together as well as Bucky does, but his body and mind are at war with each other enough; he doesn’t want to give them more fuel.

He gets up and showers so he can meet Sam, Clint, and Natasha for lunch. The first thing Sam does when Steve gets there is pull out his phone and snapchat a picture of the four of them to Riley.

_Having fun w/o u_ , he says. Riley sends back a snap of his middle-schoolers taking a test, heads bent over their papers.

_Y u so mean to me._

Sam sends Riley a selfie with his lips puckered up and some heart-eye emojis. Natasha looks almost pained.

“There are just so many things to say,” she explains. “So much to mock you about.”

Sam casually flips her off, then jerks his head toward Clint. “I mean,” is all he says. Clint looks up but just shrugs.

“Can’t argue with that.”

Steve fights the melancholy that threatens to envelope him. Sam and Riley are happy, Natasha and Clint are happy, and Steve is alone. He checks his phone, just in case. Nothing.

When they get their food and snag a table, Steve slips his phone out of his pocket and sets it on the table beside his plate. Sam raises his eyebrows.

“You waiting to hear from Peggy?” He asks, and Steve checks his phone almost compulsively just because Sam brought it up.

“Oh, not really,” Steve says. “I mean, I’d like to, but I’m not expecting anything. She’s in Germany this week.”

“So what’s with the phone?” Sam presses. “You hardly know where your phone is unless you’re waiting to talk to Peggy.”

“Well, it’s Bucky’s first day of school,” Steve says. “I just don’t want to miss it if he needs me.”

Clint lets out a low little whistle and scratches the back of his neck while Sam and Natasha exchange a glance.

“What?” Steve asks, getting defensive without even knowing why.

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” Sam says tentatively.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, we’re friends. Bucky was kinda nervous about today, and there’ll be so many people, and he’s going to be older than most everyone. He might need to talk.”

“Are you sleeping with him?” Natasha asks bluntly. Sam sighs.

“I—yeah,” Steve admits. He gets three open-mouthed stares in return, and then he realizes what Natasha meant and his face burns. “ _No_!” He yells, too loud for a restaurant, face burning. “No, I meant—we’re just _sleeping_. We’re sharing a bed.”

“You’re sharing a bed?” Clint echoes incredulously.

“I get cold,” Steve says. “It’s not.” He pauses, anxiety twisting his stomach. “Is that weird? Do you think Bucky thinks it’s weird?”

Natasha levels a glare at first Clint and then Sam. “Has he acted like he doesn’t want share a bed with you?”

Steve swallows down the fear that Bucky’s just being nice and secretly hates Steve clinging to him, shaking his head. He presses the button on his phone to check for messages. Nothing. “I don’t think so…he hasn’t made any excuses or anything.”

Sam shrugs a little. “He probably sleeps better with someone there,” he theorizes. “Someone to have his back.”

Steve smiles ruefully. “Like I’d be any help in a fight.”

“Hey, you’re a _boxer_ ,” Clint points out. “You can do plenty.”

Steve is squirming a little under their scrutiny, so he hastily changes the subject. “Sam, what are you getting your dad for his birthday?”

Sam lifts his eyes heavenward. “Is there a person on this earth who isn’t going to ask me that question this week?”

“In other words, he has no ideas,” Natasha translates with a laugh.

“It’s tough to keep coming up with ideas for this long! Every single year,” Sam justifies himself. He gets no sympathy, and Clint actually snorts.

“Yeah, must be terrible,” he fake-sympathizes. “Having a father to get a present for.”

“Man, come on,” Sam complains, throwing a fry at Clint. It lands on the table, and Clint picks it up and eats it.

“Ew,” Steve says. “That table probably isn’t very clean.”

“He literally ate a piece of pizza that was in the dog’s mouth,” Natasha rats him out. “I think the table-fry is the least of his worries.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Clint says sagely. The wisdom of his sentiment is somewhat undercut by the end of the French fry dangling out of his mouth. Steve’s chest unwinds a little, his friends helping him calm down after his slight freak-out over Bucky thinking he’s weird.

“Hey,” Steve says to Natasha when he remembers his conversation with Bucky about Stark. “Did you know Stark made Bucky’s arm?”

Natasha tips her head in a way that means yes but she wants to play ignorant a little. “I had an idea,” she hedges.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks, trying not to sound hurt. He’s trying not to _feel_ hurt. Natasha gives him a look.

“I can’t even tell you where I go on business trips,” she points out. “You think I’d be allowed to tell you that?”

Steve shrugs. “Just seems like a pretty big thing to keep secret,” he mumbles. Natasha presses her lips together.

“Look, I couldn’t tell you. And I also can’t tell you how many other vets are benefitting from his new R&D department.” She raises an eyebrow to let him know what she means, and Steve nods.

“I feel kinda bad about all that stuff I’ve said about him,” he admits.

“Don’t,” Natasha suggests. “His ego’s as big as his tower.”

“I want to climb the walls of that place,” Clint announces. “Someday I’m gonna.”

“You better wait ‘til I get my wings back so I can catch you,” Sam admonishes.

By the time they all go their separate ways, Sam and Natasha back to work and Clint and Steve to their respective apartments, Steve’s happy in the way only time with his best friends can make him. His phone buzzes on the train. He pulls it out to see a text from Bailey, a picture of Bucky holding up the paper-towel sketch Steve had done of Captain America, copying the Uncle Sam pose, with the caption _Cap wants YOU to have a good day at school!_

_Cutest ever_ , Bailey’s caption reads. His phone buzzes again, this time from Bucky.

_Sure, Cap wants it_ , it reads. _But what about Steve?_

Steve snorts and shakes his head. _Yeah, I guess he does too._

_You guess????_ Bucky sends back right away. _Rude. You cut me deep._

_Somehow you’ll survive._

Steve spends the rest of the day sketching early drafts of some commissions he’s gotten; a couple wants their wedding photos drawn, a woman wants a giant portrait of her dog. It’s regular stuff, nothing that takes too much thought, but it’s nice to keep his hands drawing.

Bucky gets home around four, and Steve’s sitting on the couch. Not because he was _waiting_ for Bucky or anything like that. He just wanted to work in the living room, despite the fact that it’s hard to draw sitting on the couch without a table in front of him.

He _likes_ the living room.

Bucky drops his backpack and immediately flops onto the couch, sprawling over Steve’s legs and landing facedown. Steve grunts at the weight of him but laughs.

“Rough day?” He asks sympathetically, patting Bucky’s back.

Bucky sighs. “It wasn’t bad,” he says, face pressed into the arm of the couch. “Just long.” He sits up, pulling himself off Steve. Steve turns to face him, his knees pushing into Bucky’s thighs in a way that can’t be terribly comfortable, though Bucky doesn’t move away.

“So?” Steve asks. “How was it?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, I kinda felt like I was there to babysit,” he admits. “Everyone in my classes just seemed so young. They’re all Bailey’s age, mostly. Some of ‘em were…” He hesitates a little and shrugs again. “Kinda staring at me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Maybe they just thought you were hot,” he points out. Bucky barks out a little laugh.

“I know what _those_ kinds of stares look like,” he brags with a smirk.

Steve scoffs and shakes his head. “Do you like the professors, though? Are you excited for your classes?”

“They all seem alright,” Bucky says cautiously. “My English teacher knew who I was.”

Steve searches his face, trying to gauge his feelings about that. “Yeah?”

Bucky makes a little face, scrunches his lips to one side. “She asked me to wait after class so she could tell me if I ever needed anything she’d be happy to help.”

Steve winces. It sounds fine—nice, even—but he knows all too well how targeted that kind of thing can feel. An email would have felt better, so Bucky wouldn’t have to check over his shoulder to see if any other students could hear.

“She was real sweet about it, though,” Bucky adds. “I just…” He blows out a little breath.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, even though Bucky didn’t really say anything. He gets it.

“Got my history class with Bailey tomorrow,” Bucky says with a grin. “We’ll see how that goes. See if she even wants to _sit_ by me. I was embarrassing her when we ate lunch today.”

“Embarrassing her how?” Steve asks, almost worried Bailey was embarrassed just by Bucky’s presence. He doesn’t think she’d be like that, not when everyone in Bucky’s family is so adamant in their defense of him, but Bailey’s got that whole rebellion thing going on.

Bucky laughs a little, and Steve relaxes. “Couple guys came sniffing around and I kept glaring at ‘em.”

“Bucky,” Steve chides gently. It makes Bucky laugh harder.

“Ah, come on!” He says. “She’s my kid sister. Anyway, none of them were good enough for her.”

“That implies you think there is someone on this earth good enough for her,” Steve points out. Bucky’s smile softens a little.

“Well, yeah,” he agrees. “Guess that’s a pretty tall order. Becca managed to find one, though, so I guess there might be another one out there.”

“Or two,” Steve corrects. “For Beth.”

Bucky gasps theatrically. “My Bethy is a child, Steve, and she will _never_ look at another human being with lust.”

Steve snorts. “Alright, Buck. You got homework or something?”

“I got some English stuff,” Bucky admits, cringing a little. “For my idiot English class.”

“Hey,” Steve says sharply. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I used to be in all the advanced classes,” Bucky says quietly. “Now I can’t even take a regular English class.”

Steve purses his lips angrily. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing he _can_ say to make this easier for Bucky. “Okay, so, it’ll take you a little longer,” Steve says, keeping his tone light. “But you’ll get there.”

“Maybe.” Bucky looks so dejected, so tired, and Steve can’t take it.

“Want to see the half-wall sized portrait a woman is paying me to paint of her dog?” He asks. “He’s wearing a ruffled collar because she wants it Renaissance style.”

Bucky stares for a second, completely mystified by everything Steve’s saying, and then he cracks up laughing.

“I absolutely want to see that,” he gasps. “Oh my God.”

Bucky keeps chortling over that for a while, and the sound keeps Steve smiling.

  
Bucky’s first few weeks of classes goes by pretty quickly. Steve doesn’t always pack Bucky’s lunch—he feels weird about it, and plus sometimes he just can’t rouse himself early enough to make Bucky a sandwich or something, and sometimes Bucky puts his lunch together the night before—but he makes sure to drop a little doodle in there every day. It’s completely ridiculous, and probably barely makes Bucky even smile, but Steve can’t help it. If he can do anything to get a smile out of Bucky, especially after his English class, which makes him feel increasingly more self-conscious, Steve will do it.

Steve goes to Thor’s gym while Bucky’s at school. He’d felt kind of bad about it at first, but Bucky had leveled him with an unimpressed look.

“Finding excuses not to go?” He’d challenged, fully knowing how much Steve would hate that.

So Steve keeps going, even without Bucky. It’s a little weird being there without Bucky, just because the first dozen or so times he’d gone Bucky had been in the background, but Thor keeps him busy enough that Steve quickly stops straining for the sound of a metal fist against the heavy bag.

“You have improved greatly since first you came here,” Thor praises him one day during Bucky’s second week of school. Steve ducks his head a little.

“Well, I got a ways to go,” he says.

“True that may be, but you should celebrate what you’ve achieved!” Fandrul says jovially.

“Fandrul just likes any excuse to celebrate,” Hogun adds, like he’s any better. Volstagg gives Hogun a look that says exactly what Steve was just thinking, and Steve laughs.

“Steven, there is a question we have,” Thor says, glancing at his friends.

“Thor,” Sif warns. “Let him be.”

Thor ignores her. “We have wondered some time now…Barnes called you his friend, when he told me he was bringing you to learn boxing technique. But he is more than a friend, is he not?”

Sif rolls her eyes. “Do not bother answering their questions if you don’t want to,” she advises. “They will always have more.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Well, um. We’re…” He hesitates. They _are_ friends, there’s just that convenient marriage part. But he can’t really tell them the truth, can he? “Bucky and I are married,” he finally finishes.

Sif’s eyes go wide. “Married!” She echoes. “I thought Thor was simply being nosy.” Steve laughs, feeling awkward at the way all five of them are making a fuss over it.

“I _knew_ they were in love,” Fandrul keeps saying. “I told you all.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not friends,” Steve points out, a little faintly. He doesn’t want _everything_ he says to be a lie.

Thor smiles at him. “That is the wisest kind of marriage to have,” he says. “Not that I know, obviously. But my mother always told me the best lover is one who is your friend first.”

Steve tries not to blush at the word _lover_. His eyes cut to the side, and he sees the flash of hurt that comes over Sif’s face as she looks at Thor. It’s hardly there for a second before it’s gone, but Steve sees it. Oh. His heart aches a little for her.

“How did we go all this time without knowing you’re married?” Volstagg asks. “It is easy to see you care for each other, but the marriage part is surprising.”

“Uh,” Steve stammers. It’s easy to see they care for each other? They’re not even actually in love. Though, he reflects, he does care for Bucky. There’s nothing wrong with that being transparent.

“They don’t have to announce it to the world,” Sif interrupts, and there’s a little undercurrent of snappishness to her tone that Steve thinks must come from seeing what she thinks is the kind of relationship she wants, working out when hers isn’t. If she only knew, Steve thinks wryly.

“I, uh.” Steve shrugs. “I guess it’s just normal to us,” he lies. “We don’t really think about it all that much anymore.”

Fandrul clasps his hands together under his chin. “This is romance,” he says, and Steve laughs a little because it honestly isn’t, but they’re all eating up everything he’s saying.

“Romance done right,” Hogun adds.

Steve eventually convinces them to get back to boxing, but it’s not five minutes later that Bucky comes in the gym.

“Hey,” Steve says, smiling even though he can’t help a little bubble of worry. “What are you doing here? You have another class.”

“It got cancelled,” Bucky assures him. He throws Steve a grin. “Wanted to watch you beat up Thor a little.”

“You’re married!” Fandrul yells. Bucky wrinkles his brow.

“Yeah, I know we are. I was there.”

“We didn’t know,” Hogun explains.

“You’re not overly affectionate,” Volstagg adds.

“Are you worried your relationship would not be accepted here because of the sports atmosphere?” Sif asks.

“I would never allow anyone to be hateful to you,” Thor says gravely.

“Uh.” Bucky shoots Steve a glance and Steve shrugs at him. He didn’t mean for Bucky to get ambushed just for walking in the door.

“You are free to greet one another as you would at home,” Thor goes on.

“Maybe not _exactly_ as you would at home,” Fandrul adds with a wink.

Steve coughs, feeling his cheeks heating up. Bucky’s laughing at him, and it makes him roll his eyes.

“Well, okay,” Steve says, almost a taunt. He crosses the ring and leans down. “Greet me,” he challenges Bucky.

Bucky huffs and stands up on his tiptoes. “You just like me being shorter than you,” he murmurs accusingly before brushing his lips against Steve’s. His lips are a little bit chapped, like he’s been biting them a lot, and the thought of him nervously biting at his lips at school makes Steve reach out and put a hand on his face.

Except he’s wearing boxing gloves.

Bucky pulls back, cracking up laughing. “That certainly doesn’t happen at home,” he jokes.

“Oops,” Steve says. He turns around. “Now can we get back to fighting, please?”

Bucky, of course, teases Steve about it the whole time they walk home, and Steve keeps threatening to do it again, harder this time. When he gets out of the shower, he has a text from Peggy, and his heart leaps a little. _Skype tomorrow 4:00 your time?_ She suggests. Steve deliberates. On the one hand, it’s Peggy, and Steve isn’t sure a time will ever come when he doesn’t want to talk to her. Plus her schedule is so hectic that rainchecks often don’t pan out.

But on the other hand…that’s usually when Bucky gets home from school, and Steve doesn’t want to be on the phone when he gets back. Bucky usually spends a few minutes telling Steve anything of note that happened in his classes, and Steve would feel bad if Bucky didn’t have that time to decompress, a listening ear.

Sure, Bucky could call his mom or one of his other friends, but Steve knows Bucky likes telling him because Bucky doesn’t have to explain why someone asking if he needed help with his books was a bad thing, not a good thing. And Bucky often glosses things over when he talks to Winifred, because he doesn’t want her to feel sad.

_Can you do any earlier?_ He asks.

_3:00?_ She tries. _I’ve a commitment that runs until at least 7:30_.

_3:00 is perfect!_ Steve says, heart beating faster in anticipation. Just as long as Bucky doesn’t get home early again, but tomorrow’s Thursday and Bucky usually stays on campus a little longer to meet with a study group for his science class.

_Can’t wait. :)_ , Peggy sends, and Steve grins at the smiley face.

“What are you smiling at?” Bucky asks.

“Your dumb face,” Steve answers automatically. He looks up to see Bucky looking unconcerned.

“Well, who doesn’t smile at this face?” He says nonchalantly.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You got quite the ego, Barnes.”

“You saying it’s undeserved?” Bucky pretends to be wounded, and Steve can’t help it—he breaks first, cracks a laugh that makes Bucky grin triumphantly.

“Oh, no, Bucky,” Steve says, pitching his voice high and breathy. “Your face is so wonderful, and your beautiful big blue eyes, and that _morning breath_ , my goodness.”

Bucky throws a grape at him.


	18. Chapter 18

August fades into September, and the air is getting crisper. This is great for Bucky, since he always wears long sleeves and a glove on his left hand and cooler weather is more comfortable for that, but it's not great for Steve. The temperature change brings up a wheeze in his chest that has Bucky hovering around him nervously.

"It's fine, Bucky," Steve assures him. "Happens every time the seasons change."

"What if it turns into pneumonia again?" Bucky asks anxiously.

Steve shrugs. "I don't think it will." Bucky raises an eyebrow that points out Steve didn't think it was pneumonia before, either.

"I _promise_ I'll tell you if I start feeling worse," Steve concedes, rolling his eyes only a little.

"You better," Bucky mutters.

So far, for the three weeks they've been in the class, Bucky and Bailey haven't run into conflict in sharing their textbook. Part of that is because Bucky is absolutely determined to always be on top of his homework and does the reading right after class, and part of it is, Bailey had confided in Steve, she'd scanned the first several chapters a the library so Bucky wouldn't have to worry about rushing through the reading.

"He reads slower than he used to," she'd told him lowly. "And I don't want him to feel bad."

Steve hadn't been able to stop his smile. "That's really thoughtful of you."

She'd shrugged. "He _is_ my big brother, you know."

But Bucky's been getting increasingly grumpy about his homework.

"Why did I think college was a good idea?" He bursts out one night, throwing his highlighter angrily. Steve jumps a little, surprised. Bucky comes home from class every day chattering excitedly about things he's learned— _do you know how many cells are in our bodies, Steve? What’s your favorite Amendment in the Bill of Rights, Steve? Did you know Mary Shelley was only a teenager when she wrote Frankenstein, Steve?_ —but doing the reading puts a frown on his face.

"I thought you liked your classes," Steve points out.

"Sure, but why do I have to do all this reading?" Bucky huffs, rubbing his temples irately. "Why can't we just learn in class?"

"Well, technically you could," Steve says. "A lot of people don't do the reading for class."

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath. "Either they're smarter than me or they fail."

"You're plenty smart," Steve insists, hating the way Bucky's letting his head droop forward so his hair covers his face.

Bucky doesn't answer, but he does get up and retrieve his highlighter.

Winifred sends Steve a text one afternoon while Bucky's at school.

 _Is James having a hard time with the readings?_ She asks.

Steve doesn't know how to respond. On the one hand, the truth is yes, he is, and Winifred is his mother, so telling her seems fine. On the other, Steve feels like he's betraying Bucky if he admits Bucky's struggling.

As if she can sense his hesitation, Winifred adds, _Bailey mentioned something._

 _I think he just expects too much from himself_ , Steve finally answers.

 _He always has_ , Winifred tells him, and somehow that's not terribly surprising.

 _I wish he'd cut himself some slack_ , Steve says.

_Me too, honey._

"Ma, I'm _fine_ ," Bucky's saying into the phone as he walks in the front door later that day. He rolls his eyes as he listens. "No, it's okay. I promise. Okay. I love you. Bye.” He fixes Steve with a stink eye as he’s still hanging up. “Did you squeal on me to my mother, Rogers?”

“No!” Steve shoots back, too fast and too insistent. Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “She asked first,” Steve adds before Bucky can say anything, and then, because he has no shame, “Bailey’s the one who told her.”

“Ugh, Bailey,” Bucky mutters. “Little snitch.”

Steve looks up, horrified. “What did you just call her?”

Bucky looks confused, then his eyes go wide. “No, no, _snitch_ ,” he clarifies. He casts around for a moment, thinking, then signs _sneak_. “I guess? Not really, but I don’t know any signs for tattletale or whatever.”

Steve starts laughing. “Oh my God, I couldn’t believe you said that about your sister. How’s your signing coming? You still learning?”

Bucky shrugs, blushing a little. _Trying_ , he signs. “Gabe’s a good teacher. He’s busy, though, with his job and all that.”

“Well…” Steve scratches at his ear. “I mean. I could help, too. If you want.” Maybe Bucky just wants Gabe to teach him. Maybe Bucky doesn’t want his help and Steve’s intruding.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and he doesn’t sound annoyed. “It’s easier than, uh, my class stuff. I remember better. ‘Cause I don’t have to read it. I can just watch.”

“That makes sense,” Steve says, although he’s not sure it does. He learns from books or from doing it himself and messing up a bunch of times. Watching someone else never teaches him very well.

“Well, just when you have time,” Bucky says. “Don’t, like, go out of your way.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “When I have time?” He repeats. “Yeah. My busy schedule.”

Bucky laughs a little. “Your art takes up a lot of your time, doesn’t it?”

“Most of the time I’m just doing that for fun,” Steve points out. “Not for a commission or anything.”

“So?” Bucky asks. “You’re good at it. You like it. It’s still important for you to do.”

It spreads something warm through Steve, hearing someone say his art is worthwhile. His friends are always appreciative, but he only has a few of them, and the effectiveness wears off after the same people say the same things over and over. It might be a little vain, but Steve likes when new people say good things about art, especially his own.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve murmurs, ducking his head a little. “Anyway, how was class?”

Bucky makes a face. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. “Usually you got ten million new things to tell me about what you learned.”

Bucky looks a little embarrassed and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry if that's annoying.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Steve says quickly, mentally kicking himself for bringing it up and making Bucky feel self-conscious about it. “It’s adorable.” And then he mentally kicks himself for saying that. _Adorable?_ Why’d he call Bucky adorable?

“Adorable?” Bucky echoes, smirking. “Aw shucks, Steve.”

“Shut up,” Steve scoffs. “What was bad about today?”

“Nothing.” Bucky sounds far too innocent to be telling the truth, and Steve just narrows his eyes. Bucky rolls his eyes but Steve can tell he’s relenting.

“I just, uh. My English class, right? My professor’s all touchy-feely, whatever. Wants us to build up a ‘caring culture’ in our class. So we’re s’posed to do stuff together. Outside of class. We get extra credit for it.”

Steve winces. Forced socialization. Not his cup of tea, either. Bucky probably wouldn’t have minded, a few years ago, but now there’s dread written all over his face at the prospect.

“And these kids—they’re just kids, you know? Bailey’s age. Well anyway, a bunch of ‘em are throwing a party tomorrow night and invited me along.”

“Are you going?” Steve asks. Bucky flops down on the couch, throwing his legs over Steve’s.

“I don’t wanna,” he whines, purposefully over-petulant.

“But?” Steve prompts, because he can hear the _but_ in Bucky’s voice. Bucky looks away.

“But I need the extra credit.”

Steve purses his lips. He wants to go find anyone responsible for hurting Bucky—anyone who ever even _thought_ of hurting Bucky—and burn them to the ground. He digs his thumb into Bucky’s calf to make him squirm while he thinks.

“I’ll go with you,” he hears himself say, even though he wants to recoil from his own words a second later. Bucky looks skeptical.

“You will?” He asks. “You’ll go to a frat party? Where it’ll be super loud and everyone will be drinking and acting like assholes and yelling too much and crowding way too close together and the lights will be down way too low?” By the end, he sounds less accusing and more panicked, and that settles it for Steve.

“Hey,” Steve jokes. “Can’t let my husband go to a party without me, right?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to come. You’ll hate it. And you won’t be able to understand anything anyone’s saying.”

Steve puts on a blithe face. “It’ll be good for me to get out,” he says with a shrug. “Come on, Buck. Let’s pretend to be youngsters again.”

Bucky snorts. “Youngsters?”

“I won’t even get into a single fight,” Steve vows. Bucky laughs.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Still, Friday night finds them ditching the sweats and putting on actual jeans. Bucky pulls his hair back into a bun, and then he lets it down, and then he tucks it behind his ears, and then he puts it up again. Steve doesn’t say a word. He’s not going to draw attention to how insecure Bucky feels. Besides, Steve himself is wondering if he can get away without his medical alert bracelet. Bucky will be there, and he knows enough to tell the paramedics if need be, right? But Bucky watches while Steve fiddles with it, so he leaves it be.

Steve’s about to swing his backpack onto his shoulder when Bucky blurts out, “I'll carry it.”

Steve glares at him. “I can carry my own backpack,” he says. “It’s not even heavy. It just has my meds in it.”

“I know you can,” Bucky mumbles, looking down at his feet. “I…never mind.” He tugs at the bottom of his shirt and Steve suddenly remembers the way Bucky holds onto the straps when he’s wearing his own backpack. He needs something to do with his hands.

“Well, you can if you want,” Steve relents, trying to sound casual and not like he’s babying Bucky. “Doesn’t really go with my outfit anyway.”

Bucky barks out a little laugh at that. “Yeah, you’re quite the fashionista,” he deadpans as he takes the backpack.

They can hear the music booming from the house while they’re still on the sidewalk outside, and Bucky makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat.

“It’ll be fine,” Steve reassures him. Reassures both of them, really, because he’s already cringing at the thought of going inside. “We don’t have to stay long, right? Your teacher didn’t say you have to stay for the whole party.”

Bucky squares his shoulders like he’s getting ready to meet his doom. “Let’s get this over with.”

Bucky opens the door and they both recoil a little at the old-weed-and-sweat smell that rushes out at them. The music is too loud and they can already hear rowdy, drunken yelling. Bucky gives Steve a miserable look. Steve returns it, all his plans to be chipper be damned. This is so not the kind of thing either of them enjoy.

Bucky says something, and Steve can only catch the word “class”, but then Bucky signs _find_ and Steve nods, assuming they need to find someone from his class. It makes sense—someone has to see him to confirm he interacted with them for him to get the points.

They’re trying to push through the crowd, and Bucky keeps shying away from anyone about to bump into him, and Steve keeps getting jostled and stepped on, and Bucky looks back at least once every five seconds to make sure Steve is still there.

Steve feels like he can’t breathe. There are just so many _people_ and so much _noise_ and it’s been so long since he’s been around this many people and he’s never liked parties much anyway, and people are looking at him and he swallows hard, thinking about the sharp jut of his collarbone peeking out of his shirt where most guys his age have some kind of muscle there.

A gloved hand wraps around his and Steve snaps out of his own head. Bucky's got hold of his hand, giving it a gentle little squeeze as he glances back and raises his eyebrows, asking silently if Steve’s okay.

Steve nods, feeling guilty. If it’s this bad for him, what must it feel like for Bucky, who has actual reason to not like strangers touching him? Steve’s supposed to be Bucky’s support here. He squeezes Bucky’s hand back, brushing his thumb against Bucky’s knuckle. He has no idea if Bucky can even feel it, but it’s something to focus on, anyway.

Finally, a guy yells, “Hey, it’s Bucky!” and Bucky’s shoulders tense up a little but he smiles, so Steve figures they’ve found someone from his class.

“Wow, I _so_ did not think you’d actually come!” The guy gushes. “Want a beer?”

Bucky shakes his head and doesn’t say anything, even after the guy waits a beat. The guy’s eyebrows are raised, and Bucky’s getting tenser by the second, so Steve cuts in,

“He’s got a family thing after this.”

“Ohh,” the guy says knowingly. “Hey, I’m Chad.” He gestures at the girls beside him. “This is Lacy and Anita.”

“Steve,” Steve supplies.

“We’ve got some soda, too,” Chad adds. “You want root beer? Orange soda? Sprite?”

“Oh, sure, I’ll take a root beer,” Steve says, mostly just because he wants something to do with his hands. “Buck?” Bucky shrugs jerkily and then says, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth,

“I’ll get it. Anyone else?”

Steve feels his eyes get wide—Bucky’s going to abandon him with people he doesn’t even know?—but Bucky drops his hand and follows Chad’s directions to the kitchen.

“Just don’t take anything out of the ice in the bathtub!” Chad calls at Bucky’s back. “That ain’t soda!”

Chad, Lacy, and Anita turn to look at Steve and he fights the urge to gulp. He’s not really great at meeting new people.

“So, um, are all of you in Bucky’s class?” He asks. That seems like a safe topic.

“I’m not,” Anita says. “I met him in the library yesterday though.” She giggles a little as she says it, and it makes Steve frown. What’s so funny about the library? She sees his confusion and giggles harder. “He sure likes ‘em young, huh?”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks, sounding more defensive than he really meant to.

Chad gives Anita a dark look. “Nothing,” he says warningly.

“Just, you know. Isn’t Bucky a little older?” Lacy ventures. “He’s like, an actual grown-up. And he’s always in the library with this super young girl, plus now he’s here with you…” She trails off at the way Steve’s narrowing his eyes.

“I’m older than Bucky,” he snaps. “And the girl he’s always with is his little sister.”

“Aww,” Anita coos. “That’s so cute.”

For some reason, it annoys Steve to listen to this drunk girl fawning over Bucky. “Sure. You guys all freshmen?”

“Yeah, and college is so great!” Lacy gushes. “My classes are kinda hard though.”

“Shit, my math class is the worst,” Chad groans. Steve feels about a hundred years old. He’s a fossil compared to these kids. He can hardly remember his freshman year.

“You could sign up for a time with the TA,” Steve says, because he’s supposed to say something. It ages him though; it makes him sound like their big brother or RA or something.

“Oh, yeah, man, great idea!” Chad says. “You’re, like, wise and shit.”

Steve glances over his shoulder, willing Bucky to come back. This is so uncomfortable.

“So what are you and Bucky?” Anita asks, and she does it in that tone of voice that means she’s hoping Steve will say they’re cousins or something so she can have Bucky to herself. She leans forward and raises her eyebrows a little, tossing her hair as she glances around for Bucky, and Steve sighs internally. Now he’s got to break some girl’s heart for Bucky, too?

“We’re—”

“Man, you look like the kinda guy who’s one second away from shooting us all!” Some drunk kid calls out, and Steve glances over to see him way too close in Bucky’s space. Bucky’s leaning away, grimacing.

He does look a little menacing, Steve supposes, now that he looks at Bucky from an outsider’s perspective. He’s wearing all black, he left his hair down after all and it’s hanging in his face, and he’s glowering at everyone. If they all just took second to actually _look_ at him, though, it’s easy to see he’s way more uncomfortable than angry.

“What’s in the backpack?” Someone else calls. “Hope it’s not a gun!”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and Steve’s hands start to ball into fists as he takes the few steps over there. They can’t just _corner_ Bucky like that. Before Steve can get all the way over, Bucky speaks up.

“It’s my husband’s insulin and asthma inhaler and epi-pen,” he says. He hands Steve a diet Coke. “They were out of root beer,” he apologizes. “I got the diet one ‘cause it doesn’t have sugar. That’s what you need, right?”

“You’re married?” Chad cries incredulously. “Dude, I had no idea!”

“Husband?” Anita echoes disappointedly. Steve rubs his temples with his free hand. He doesn’t actually like diet Coke and the blanket statement that no sugar is better for him isn't actually true, but it was incredibly sweet of Bucky to think of that.

 _Want to go home?_ Bucky signs. Steve nods gratefully. They came, Bucky was seen, hopefully that’s enough. Steve wants to get back in his pajamas and watch Netflix.

They don’t make it all the way to the door, though, before Steve hears Anita yell out, “Hey, there’s that girl Bucky’s always with!” Steve and Bucky both turn to look and sure enough, there’s Bailey. She’s got a beer in her hand, sitting on a guy’s lap and giggling, weaving a little from her perch. The guy oh so _considerately_ grabs her ass to keep her steady. Bucky’s jaw clenches, and Steve’s worried he’s going to break a tooth.

“Bailey, what are you doing?” Bucky demands.

“Oh no, big bad Bucky!” Bailey laughs. She pitches her voice lower in what is apparently supposed to be an impersonation. “No fun ever.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Come on, Bay, let’s get you home.”

“Uh-uh!” Bailey protests. “This guy—what’s your name? Danny, right?”

“Sure, I’ll be Danny,” he says, all smarmy, and Bucky gives him a black look that makes him freeze up a little.

“Shh, Bucky, it’s okay,” Bailey insists. “I know what I’m doing. Danny’s teaching me to dance.”

“You’re sitting down, Bay,” Bucky points out. “And I think Danny wants to teach you some other things.”

“I’m gonna dance on the table!” Bailey cries, hit by the sudden inspiration of drunk people everywhere. She slithers off Danny’s lap and he grabs her ass a bit more, though Bailey doesn't seem to like that so much and shrugs him off. He’s fairly brave, Steve thinks, to do that with Bucky standing right there, but most of Steve is focused on the way Bailey can hardly manage to keep herself upright.

“Bailey, how much have you had to drink?” Steve asks.

She snorts. “A _lot_.”

The kids gathered around who are sober enough to be aware what’s going on are shooting Bailey embarrassed little looks. She’s making a spectacle of herself, as Steve’s mother used to say, and Steve’s not sure it’s safe to leave her here.

“Who’d you come with?” He presses. “Where are you friends?”

“Dana…” Bailey pauses, looking around. “Dana!” She calls. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Dana Zimbrowski?” Someone asks. “She left like an hour ago. Said she had a headache.”

“She ditched you and left you alone, getting wasted on shitty beer?” Bucky asks. He shakes his head. “Great friend, Bay. No wonder Ma’s worried.”

Bailey scoffs. “Ma’s worried because Ma wants me to be a _good little girl_ forever.”

“Ma just wants—” Bucky tries, but Bailey cuts him off.

“She just wants to control _me_ because she couldn’t keep _you_ from getting your head cut open and your arm chopped off.”

Bucky flinches, and Steve can’t take another second of this.

“That is enough,” he says harshly. “We’re going home.”

Bucky exhales hard through his nose, but before he can say anything, Bailey blanches.

“Oh, I don’t feel so good.”

“No ralphing on the carpet!” Chad yells.

“Come on,” Bucky says, tugging gently at Bailey’s arm, shaking his head a little. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

“And something to eat to sober you up,” Steve mutters, feeling far less sympathetic than Bucky. Bailey throws up before they make it ten steps down the street, leaning over into the bushes, and Bucky even holds her hair for her. Maybe Steve would feel differently if he had siblings of his own, but he feels like Bucky is being far too nice after what Bailey said.

Bailey throws up twice more before they get home, and she’s an absolute mess when they finally get inside—her hair is limp, she has mascara tear-tracks down her cheeks, and she can’t seem to keep her eyes open. Steve softens a bit toward her.

“Into bed, Bay, here we go,” Bucky soothes her, helping her sit on the bed and bending down to untie her shoes.

“I’ll grab her some sweats,” Steve offers, only a little grudgingly. Bucky shakes his head.

“She can’t change herself like this,” he points out, gesturing at the way her head’s lolling. “And I’m sure as hell not doing it for her.”

Steve laughs a little. “Well, I’ll grab the trashcan, then, in case she needs to throw up again.”

“I’ll wash your sheets tomorrow,” Bucky promises, and it takes Steve a second to realize he means the sheets on the bed in here. Steve’s room. Right. Those are the sheets he bought at the thrift store two years ago. He hasn’t slept on them in over a month.

Bailey curls into a ball on the bed, crying. “What’s wrong with me?” She asks.

“Nothing permanent, you’re just drunk,” Bucky assures her.

“Why can’t I just be normal?”

Steve shoots a questioning glance at Bucky, who looks troubled. “What do you mean?” Bucky asks. She doesn’t answer. “Bailey?”

“Leave me alone,” she whispers. Bucky looks like he wants to argue, to try to push, but Steve looks at Bailey and can tell she’s not going to be useful for any answers tonight. He crooks his finger at Bucky.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”

Bucky props a pillow up behind Bailey so she won’t roll over onto her back and follows Steve out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

“I remember Ma teaching me to do that when she was a baby,” Bucky says softly as they go into Bucky’s room. Steve doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t think there’s anything he can say, at this point, that will make anything better. He puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeeze gently, but he jumps back with a startled cry.

Even through Bucky’s shirt, his arm is _scalding_. “Bucky, your arm!” Steve yelps. “Why is it so hot?”

Bucky dodges his eyes. “Happens sometimes.”

“We gotta cool that off.” Steve says. “It burned me. Through your shirt.”

Bucky looks contrite. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve argues. “That’s not what I meant. I meant—well, doesn’t it hurt?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know.”

That gives Steve pause. “What do you mean?”

Bucky clears his throat. “It always hurts, Steve.”

And he doesn’t have to say anything else. Steve knows exactly what he means. When it always hurts, you don't always notice it hurting _differently_. And Steve can’t imagine Bucky’s arm feels great in general, so he might have genuinely just not noticed.

Steve sighs a little. “Can we do something to cool it off? I’ll get the ice pack from the freezer. Take off your shirt.”

Bucky tries to scrounge up a leer. “If you wanted to see me shirtless you coulda just asked,” he teases, but his voice falls a little flat. His eyes cut down from Steve’s face to his arm briefly, and Steve says,

“Oh.” Bucky doesn’t want Steve to see him with his shirt off. “I can—I’ll go out on the couch,” Steve offers, and Bucky’s face is twisting in protest before he even finishes the sentence. Steve puts his hands on his hips and huffs. “Well, what, then? I’m not going to let you just suffer through it, Buck.”

Bucky hesitates, but then he grabs the back of his shirt and tugs it over his head. First, of course, Steve’s breath catches a little because _damn_. Bucky’s abs are the definition of washboard, with that V on his hipbones magazines always accentuate.

But then Steve’s eyes travel up and catch the web of scars on Bucky’s shoulder. His skin is mottled all around the joint, where the metal arm starts. And then Steve notices the angry red welts there—burns.

“Bucky,” he breathes. “It’s burning you!”

Bucky blinks and glances down. “Oh.”

Steve’s hand, instinctively, reaches out to touch, and Bucky flinches. Steve drops his hand. “Sorry,” he says immediately. “I—I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Sorry.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Steve says, “I’m gonna get the ice pack, okay?” He takes a second to pull himself together once he’s out in the kitchen. He knew, already, what happened to Bucky. He read the article online, and Bucky and his family have said enough that Steve’s picked up other pieces. It’s not a surprise.

But seeing the physical scars, seeing the evidence left on Bucky’s body of brutality and pain, is making Steve feel lightheaded. Someone put those scars on Bucky. Someone cut into his skin and left gouges there. Steve squeezes his hands together so hard he pops his joints.

He takes a deep breath before he goes back into the room. “Where’s it hottest?” He asks determinedly.

Bucky chews his lip for a second, then points to the top of his shoulder, where the metal meets skin. “That’s, uh. Where it hurts the most.”

Steve holds out the ice pack, not wanting to make the mistake of touching again when Bucky clearly doesn't want him to. “Here. Put it on there.”

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs. Steve tells himself not to stare at Bucky’s shoulder. But instead he ends up looking at Bucky’s abs, and that’s not a great idea either. Steve wonders what it would take for him to get abs like that. A miracle, probably.

“Looks horrible, huh?” Bucky’s voice comes out hoarse and Steve’s head snaps up.

“Uh…” Horrible wasn’t exactly the word Steve was thinking. Bucky’s lips twist bitterly.

“I used to love walking around with my shirt off,” he says. “Showing off, flexing, looking at myself in the mirror.” He shakes his head.

“You still should,” Steve blurts out. “Shit, your abs.”

Bucky stares at him for a minute, and then he starts smirking. Steve immediately goes pink and scoffs away from him.

“Aw, Stevie, you like what you see?” Bucky sings. Steve would be more annoyed, but he can see the way Bucky’s forcing it, trying to act how he normally would.

“Whatever,” Steve huffs.

“’S only fair I finally get back at you,” Bucky says. “Running around with those cheekbones and eyelashes.”

Steve wrinkles his brow. “What?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and are his cheeks getting a little pink? “Oh, come on. You’re not the kind of guy who fishes for compliments.”

“I—” Steve breaks off, confused, and Bucky waves a hand at him.

“Go take out your contacts; I can see you blinking too much.”

Steve mulls that over while he brushes his teeth. Bucky thinks Steve has good cheekbones and eyelashes? He’s not exactly the first to point it out—women, in particular, rave about Steve’s eyelashes. It’s just throwing Steve for a loop, in the midst of Bucky’s shirtless ab situation and the emotional upheaval of the night. He shakes his head at himself and accidentally gets toothpaste on the mirror.

Steve crawls under the covers and Bucky gives him a look. “Well, nurse, am I allowed to go brush my teeth and take a piss?”

Steve makes a face. “Please do.”

“Please do take a piss?”

Steve shoves at Bucky’s right shoulder. “Get away from me.”

When Bucky comes back, Steve commandingly hands over the ice pack again, and Bucky takes it without complaint. They settle in, though their usual proximity is hindered a bit by the cold ice Bucky’s got on his arm. Steve forces himself not to shiver. He knows Bucky will do something self-sacrificing like insist on sleeping on the couch or letting his arm burn him. Steve can handle a little chill. It _is_ a little different snuggling close together when Bucky's shirtless. Steve can't really _not_ put his hand on Bucky's abs, and it's making him blush. This is ridiculous. He reminds himself of the gravity of the situation by looking at the angry blisters on Bucky's skin.

“You gotta go to Stark or the doctor or whoever,” Steve says. Bucky sighs as soon as Steve says it.

“How did I know this was coming?”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” Steve insists. “This isn’t okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a minute, just shifts around to get comfortable. “I got my monthly routine appointment with Stark next week. I’ll tell him about it then.”

“You go to monthly appointments with Stark?” They’ve been living together for months and Steve didn’t know that.

“Well, my arm’s just a prototype. They gotta make sure it’s not killing me.” Bucky settles the ice pack more firmly on his shoulder.

“Is that why you couldn’t come get Beth from camp?” Steve asks, and the immediate wince on Bucky’s face tells him no, there’s something else.

“I got other appointments, too,” Bucky says cryptically. “Stark’s take up almost half a day, though.”

“But he’s gonna take it seriously, right?” Steve asks, letting it drop. He’ll find out someday what Bucky’s so uncomfortable about with his mystery appointments. “You’re not gonna downplay it?”

Bucky gives him a look. “Steve,” he says warningly. Steve holds up his hands.

“Okay, okay. You’re a grownup. You can handle yourself.”

Bucky burrows down into the blankets and then kicks one leg out restlessly. “It’s only nine fucking thirty.”

Steve cracks up laughing. “Going to bed seemed to make sense. Didn’t know what else we’re supposed to do. And I’m tired, anyway.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well, close your eyes and quit talking. Usually a good start.”

Bucky sighs long-sufferingly. He won’t stop moving around. “Did you know your body has about 640 muscles?”

“Bucky.”

Bucky’s quiet for another beat. “I bet you got lots to say about creationism being mandatory in schools, huh?”

“Ugh, it’s a complete violation of the First Amendment’s mandate to establish no religion,” Steve says, then he kicks Bucky. “Don’t get me fired up when I’m going to bed.”

Bucky laughs. “Can you sleep if I put the lamp on to read?”

“Will you stop talking?”

Bucky mimes zipping his lips. And then he reaches over to the bedside table, bypasses Steve’s glass of water, inhaler, glucometer, and glasses case, and pulls out…glasses. They’re not Steve’s.

“When did you get glasses?” Steve asks.

Bucky raises his eyebrows and signs _I can’t talk_.

Steve rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out. “You’re such an asshole.”

 _You are_ , Bucky signs. Then he shrugs. “Got 'em a little while after I got home but they've been at my parents' place. Doctor said they might help with the headaches when I read.”

“Headaches? You didn’t tell me you get headaches.”

“Didn’t tell you about Stark, didn’t tell you I get headaches, didn’t tell you my arm overheats. Don’t worry, next time I get a hangnail I’ll text you right away.” Bucky’s biting his lip, his uneasiness taking away some of the sarcasm in his tone.

“Why haven’t you been wearing your glasses all this time then?” Steve asks, ignoring Bucky’s barb.

Bucky shrugs again, blushing a little. “Just another thing for people to see.”

Steve nods understandingly, though not _too_ understandably. He kind of wants to die a little bit at the sight of Bucky in glasses. Steve’s glasses make him look even younger than he already does, the thick lenses making his eyes bug out. Bucky looks like a goddamn male model, hair tucked up in a bun, stubble shading his chin, glasses accentuating the perfect symmetry of his eyes.

Steve’s glad he’s not wearing his own glasses so he can only see the vague impression of Bucky’s glasses-clad face.

He doesn’t know how long Bucky stays up reading, because he manages to fall asleep pretty quickly despite the early hour. Steve’s always tired, no matter the time of day, and his insomnia means he doesn’t fight sleep when it comes for him.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to a wet spot from the condensation seeping off the ice pack, and he grimaces and tosses the ice pack to the floor. And if he burrows closer to Bucky, well, Bucky’s shoulder is blocking that wet spot.

  
“Good morning!” Peggy greets him once he opens Skype. “Your bedhead hasn’t changed, I see.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs off to the side. “It does what it wants,” he says, exasperated. “How’s your day so far?”

“Alright,” Peggy says. “I had a very long, very frustrating meeting this afternoon where I had to explain a hundred times why I’m right and everyone else is wrong.”

Steve laughs. “So you had a blast, is what you’re saying?”

Peggy snorts. “You do know how I love to be right.”

“Does it count as love if it’s just a way of being?”

Now Peggy laughs outright, and Steve feels warm triumph spread through him. He’s flirting. _Successfully_. He thinks so, anyway. Peggy ducks her head and looks up at the camera through her lashes, and Steve feels his cheeks immediately go pink.

Oh yeah. Totally successful.

“What does your shirt say?” Peggy asks. “I can only see the word ball. Is that one of those inappropriate dick joke shirts Clint loves to buy for people?”

Steve glances down at his chest. “Oh, no, it used to say baseball. It’s just old and faded.”

“Baseball?” Peggy wrinkles her nose. “Since when did you have a baseball shirt that isn’t your vintage Brooklyn Dodgers jersey?”

“It’s Bucky’s, from his high school team,” Steve admits.

“Oh,” Peggy says, her eyebrows rising high. “It’s Bucky’s.”

“It’s not—it’s no big deal,” Steve scrambles to explain, realizing how Steve wearing Bucky’s shirt might look to anyone who doesn't know better. “It’s just ‘cause we—” He cuts himself off. It doesn’t exactly sound as innocent as it is if he says _we share a bed_. “Um, Bucky’s little sister stayed over, and she doesn’t know that we’re not…um, so I had to sleep in Bucky’s room and borrowed a shirt.”

Steve’s stomach twists with the lie. Technically, everything he’s saying is true. But his implications are not. For example, he’s letting Peggy believe that Bailey slept over last night, when in fact it’s already Monday and she went back to her dorm Saturday morning after Bucky forced her to eat a greasy breakfast and pumped her full of Aspirin and water and they resolutely did not talk about things that had been said the night before.

He’s also letting Peggy believe that isn’t usual for him and Bucky to share a room, or that Steve only borrowed _this_ shirt when he actually has a little stash of sleep shirts he liberated from Bucky. It’s just that their laundry is all together, and Bucky’s big shirts are perfect for pajamas.

“His sister doesn’t know the truth?” Peggy asks. Her eyebrows are practically at her hairline.

“One sister does, the two younger ones don’t.” Steve shrugs. “I think maybe…Bucky thought they were too young to keep it a secret? Or maybe his parents didn’t want them to know? I don’t know why they don’t know. His family’s actually not great at communication.”

Peggy gives him one of the most pointed looks of his life and he rolls his eyes. She lets it go, which is nice considering Steve just finished a lie to her five seconds ago. Thankfully, Peggy moves on and tells him a story about her misogynistic coworker she desperately wants to punch in the face.

“You should!” Steve urges. “I want to come punch him.”

“If only,” Peggy says softly, making butterflies erupt in his stomach just as his phone buzzes. Steve glances at it absently, then picks it up when he sees it’s from Bucky.

_Paradise Lost._

Steve makes a face at his phone. _What about it?_ He texts Bucky back.

“Is it Sam?” Peggy asks. “Tell him he still owes me ten dollars and he cannot pay in pounds this time.”

 _Just need you to remind me that later_.

“Uh, it’s Bucky,” Steve says distractedly. “I don’t…have any idea what he’s talking about. Paradise Lost?”

“By John Milton?” Peggy asks.

“I guess,” Steve says, tapping out _????_.

“Are you texting him while he’s in class?” Peggy clucks her tongue teasingly. “Distracting.”

“Hey, he texted me first!” Steve defends himself.

Peggy laughs, then gives him an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to go,” she says. “Let’s hope my office is still standing when I get back.”

“Or let’s hope it isn’t and you can come back,” Steve counters, his boldness a bit contradicted by his blush and the breathless way he says it, but hey, at least he said it.

Peggy smiles softly at him. “Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Pegs,” Steve says. His phone buzzes again.

 _Themes in Frankenstein_.

“Bye, Steve,” Peggy says, and Steve looks back up in time to wave as she disconnects the call. He rests his chin on his hand for a second, staring at the Skype home screen, and then he shakes his head and goes back to trying to decipher Bucky’s cryptic texts. This could take a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once had a teacher who offered us extra credit if we interacted with each other outside of class because she wanted our classroom culture to be tight-knit. I think it's sort of a nice idea, though obviously I don't think it's _that_ nice of an idea since I never did it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than usual, which is funny because I wrote it in way less time. Also it's quite angsty...sorry about that. In fact I cut out a piece that will go into the next chapter that has an end result of being very adorable and domestic but the circumstances around it are angsty and poor Bucky just already had a very rough chapter. I want to put a warning for some medical-type talk...honestly, nothing intense or even in-depth, but if you're squeamish about that I just wanted to give a head's up.

Steve’s busy drawing—Captain America is meeting with Emperor Hirohito to convince him to surrender the Pacific Front _without_ the US detonating the a-bomb—and Bucky’s re-reading portions of _Frankenstein_ and making notes in the margin, muttering to himself, getting ready to write a paper. Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then looks over at Steve and grins.

“Hey,” he says. “We’re twins.”

Steve blinks a few times, pulling himself out of his reverie where he was wondering if Morita knows Japanese. If he doesn't, maybe Gabe does, since he's a linguist. “Huh?” He asks eloquently.

Bucky pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’re having a glasses party.”

Steve laughs a little. “This is a party?”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs. “We’re both here and we’re wearing glasses. Glasses party.” He reaches up and pushes on the sides of his glasses, making them wiggle from side to side. It reminds Steve of the googly eyes on Bucky’s pillbox and he cracks up.

“We should probably take a picture and send it to your mom,” Steve points out.

Bucky groans, but he’s grinning. “Oh, man, she’d eat that up.”

Steve pulls out his phone. “Come on.” He leans closer to Bucky, tipping his head, and Bucky obliges by scooting over a little, taking the phone to take the selfie because his arms are longer. He rests the side of his head against Steve’s, and Steve feels a little smile slip onto his face, not just the pose for the picture. Everything with Bucky is just so _easy_. They have a good time, and Bucky doesn’t insist he go out, doesn’t try to wheedle him into being social when he’s tired or grumpy or feeling too rundown.

“Say glasses party,” Bucky prompts.

Steve snorts. “Glasses party.”

Bucky hands over the phone and they both bend their heads a little to check the finished product. Steve’s hair is sticking up a little, ruffled where it meets Bucky’s head, but otherwise they both actually look pretty good.

“Wow,” Steve says, almost involuntarily. “That’s actually a good picture of me.”

Bucky gives him a soft smile that makes him smile back, a little confusedly. “Send it to me,” Bucky says.

“Want to take bets on how many exclamation points your mom uses?” Steve asks as he sends the message. Bucky barks out a laugh.  
  
“I say at least four.”  
  
“Four?” Steve echoes incredulously. “Come on, I’ve never seen more than three.”

“Well, we’re very cute,” Bucky points out seriously. “It prompts a lot of excitement.”

“I say two.” Steve shakes his head. “We’ve sent her too many pictures to get four.”

“Steve.” Bucky gives him a look. “I’m willingly wearing my glasses. She’s crying about it right now and calling my aunts.”

Steve can’t help but laugh a little. “Be nice to your mother.”

“I’m not being mean!”

“You’re making fun of her.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

Steve’s phone buzzes and Bucky grabs it before Steve can open the text. “Ha!” He crows triumphantly. “Five, Steve. Five!”

“No!” Steve gasps, grabbing the phone out of Bucky’s hand.

_Such handsome boys!!!!!_

“In your face,” Bucky gloats.

“That’s not fair,” Steve protests. “You’ve known her longer.”

“Aw, Stevie, don’t be a sore loser,” Bucky taunts. “You don’t have to be right all the time. I won’t tell anyone. Except all our friends.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, no, I guessed the wrong number of exclamation points your mom used in a text,” he says sarcastically, like it’s not actually bothering him. Which it totally isn’t. Not at all. Bucky smirks a little in a way that means he totally knows how Steve feels.

Both their phones buzz at almost the same time. Steve raises his eyebrows. His text is from Natasha. _You coming to Dugan’s tomorrow?_ Steve wrinkles his brow. “Are we going to Dugan’s tomorrow?”

Bucky looks up from his phone. “He just asked if we were coming to dinner. How’d you know?”

“Uh, apparently he invited Natasha before he invited us.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open in betrayal. “I cannot believe he would do this.”

“You can’t?” Steve asks skeptically. “You can’t believe he’d pick a gorgeous woman over us?”

Bucky makes a face. “Well, when you put it that way. So you wanna go?”

“I haven’t seen the Commandos in a while,” Steve muses. “But is Dugan cooking?”

Bucky scoffs. “Dugan will cook when hell freezes over. Either Dernier will throw something together, or it’ll all be takeout.”

“Fine by me,” Steve says. “I’m going to go see my ma’s headstone during the day tomorrow, but I’ll be done in time for dinner.” He’d already told Thor not to expect him at the gym, feeling a bit nervous about it, and Thor had smiled at him and gently said, “It is a good thing to remember our lost loved ones.”

Bucky nods. “Sounds good.” They don’t talk about it for the rest of the day, and Steve almost forgets he even told Bucky he was going.

But the next day, when Steve gets to the florist he always goes to, she smiles at him and says, “Your order’s all ready.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “I didn’t put in an order yet.”

She raises her eyebrows. “We got an order for you. Credit card payment over the phone. White and pink carnations.”

She turns around and pulls the flowers off the order shelf behind her, and Steve’s throat feels a little tight. “Who put in the order?” He asks.  
  
She taps a few things on her computer. “Hmm…James Barnes.”

Steve shakes his head a little. Of course. “Thank you,” he manages to say. The girl’s face softens a bit. Steve’s been coming to same florist since his mother died, so they’ve sort of gotten to know each other by now.

“Have a good day, Steve,” she says.

Steve doesn’t say much to his mother, just sits next to her headstone. “You think Bucky will still want to be my friend after this is over?” He asks quietly. He doesn’t get an answer, of course. He doesn’t know why he asks questions. It always makes him feel worse when he’s just sitting there talking to himself.

When Steve gets home, Bucky is home already, since it’s Tuesday and his classes get out earlier. He’s standing in the kitchen, doing dishes they’ve been letting sit in the sink since the weekend, soapy water up to his elbows, and Steve doesn’t even think as he walks up behind him and wraps his arms around Bucky.

“Wha—hi,” Bucky says. “Steve? You okay?”

“Thank you,” Steve says, muffled against Bucky’s back. “For the flowers.”

Bucky’s shoulders relax under Steve’s cheek. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he says softly. “I just wanted to, you know, be there for you or whatever.”

Steve starts to feel awkward about ambushing Bucky with a too-tight, too-close hug, so he eases back, surprising himself by how much he wants to stay where he is. Hugging Bucky, cuddling up to Bucky, feels more normal than not these days. It makes sense, he supposes, since they sleep the way they do. His body’s just getting used to it and recognizes Bucky as the guy who keeps him warm.

Bucky assesses him over his shoulder, then says, “Hey, we don’t have to go to Dugan’s tonight if you’re not feeling up for it.”

Steve leans against the cabinets, lets his elbows rest on the counter, and sighs. “No, I want to go.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks, setting aside a now-clean pan. Steve pushes off the counter and grabs the rag thrown over Bucky’s shoulder to start drying. It’s only fair he help out too.

“We haven’t seen our friends in a while.”

“Sure, but we can see ‘em this weekend.” Bucky hands him a fistful of spoons. “Why the fuck do we go through so many spoons? I don’t even remember using a spoon lately.”

“You use like four spoons a day,” Steve points out with a laugh. “Just eating plain peanut butter.”

“I use the same spoon every time.”

“Obviously you don’t.”

“I think _you_ use a bunch of spoons to frame me.”

Steve laughs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Bucky flicks water at Steve and Steve flaps the towel at him. “Ah, shit, we haven’t gotten Jamie’s birthday present yet.”

“What do two-year-olds like?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “He likes trucks.”

“Dump trucks,” Steve remembers. “We should go look after dinner tonight.”

Dinner is, of course, loud and chaotic, and usually that would be draining and horrible after visiting his mom, but Steve’s alright. He knows everyone there, and no one minds if he’s a little quiet.

“Hey, look who decided to show up!” Dugan calls when they get there. He’s slicing thick sourdough bread, and Bucky smirks.

“The only job you can be trusted with, eh?”

Dugan waves the knife. “Don’t sass me, Barnes.”

“And you stir,” Dernier is telling Riley. “The vegetables, ah, they stick to the pan. Stick to the pan is bad. But don’t stir violent.”

“Gentle stirring,” Riley says, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Gentle, yes, gentle.”

Steve elbows Sam, who’s watching Riley fondly. “Look at him,” Sam says, shaking his head. “He should’ve gone to culinary school.”

“Wasn’t he going to?” Steve asks. “Didn’t he say that’s what he wanted to do in high school?”

Sam shrugs, looking a little sad now. “Took him a while after we got out to be comfortable around the heat in the kitchen,” he says quietly. “Then he thought it was too late.” He catches the look on Steve’s face and pulls up a smile. “Hey, it’s alright, though. It’s good to have hobbies outside of work that make you feel good.”

“Oh, is that why you knit?” Steve teases. Sam gasps dramatically.

“I told you that in confidence, Steve Rogers.”

Natasha comes over while Steve’s still laughing. “Are we teasing Sam about knitting again?” She asks.

“Who told you?” Sam asks, pointing an accusing finger at Steve.

“I saw your needles,” she says carelessly. “Your technique could be a little tighter. Let’s make scarves soon.”

“ _You_ knit?” Gabe asks incredulously.

“Seriously, man, there is basically nothing she can’t do,” Clint answers, and the sheer pride in his voice makes a tiny smile flit onto Natasha’s face. The fact that she let them see any smile surprises Steve a little. She and Clint must be getting kind of serious.

“Knitting is a wonderful skill,” Falsworth pipes up.

“Oh, great,” Morita groans. “He’s gonna tell the story about his Gran scaring off those German soldiers in the War.”

“She had no weapons,” Falsworth starts, and he’s drowned out by a round of groaning.

“Just her needles!” The rest of the Commandos fill in. Falsworth pouts a little.

“Ratatouille is ready!” Dernier announces. Steve makes a mental note to ask Falsworth the full story later. It could go into his comic.

All in all, being surrounded by weird, ridiculous, and wonderful friends gives Steve the burst of energy he needs to get through their excursion to the toy store. The second the automatic doors open, they hear the loud shouts of little kids.

Steve shoots Bucky a quick look, gauging his reaction, but for all Bucky’s hang-ups about chaos and noise, he actually doesn’t mind the sounds of children. Steve figures he must be used to it, growing up in such a huge family.

“Okay,” Bucky says, rubbing his hands together. “Trucks.”

There’s an entire aisle devoted to different trucks and farm machinery, and now Bucky looks a little more uncomfortable.

“Sheesh,” he says. “How many kinds of toys do they need?”

“I’ll start at this end,” Steve offers. “You start at that one. We’ll meet in the middle.”

Bucky salutes him and they set to work. Steve bypasses the kinds of toys that make noise—Becca would probably kill them—and any with removable parts Jamie could choke on. After a few minutes, a salesperson walks into their aisle.

“Hello,” the girl says. “Can I help you find anything?”

“We’re alright,” Bucky mutters.

“Thanks,” Steve adds.

“What age child are you shopping for?” The girl presses. Steve doesn’t like pushy salespeople, even though he knows the girl is just doing her job. When neither of them give her an answer besides narrowed eyes, the girl says, “Let me show you one of our most popular toys right now.”

She pulls down a tank, painted in camouflage and with a rotating gun on top, and Bucky swallows hard.

“Not happening,” he says.

The girl grabs a different tank, olive green and with soldiers inside. “They come out, too,” she says blithely. “And their guns are separate, so you can mix and match.”

“You think it’s responsible to brainwash kids into glorifying war?” Bucky asks. His teeth are clenched, voice low. Normally Steve would completely applaud his sentiments, but Bucky’s on the verge of losing it right here in Toys R Us.

“Hey, hey,” Steve says soothingly, putting a hand on Bucky’s arm. “Come on, Buck. Let’s go.”

Bucky goes with him willingly, but he’s shaking his head, muscles tense under Steve’s hand. “We didn’t get Jamie a present,” Bucky finally says when they’re almost home.

“That’s okay,” Steve murmurs. “We’ll get it another time.”

Bucky drops his face to his hands. “I shouldn’t be allowed in public.”

An older man across the train car from them is watching interestedly, and Steve glares at him until he looks away. He rubs Bucky’s shoulder. It’s his left, and Steve winces a little at the heat coming up from it. Bucky’s appointment isn’t until Friday, and he staunchly refuses to ask Stark to move it up.

The older man is frowning at them disapprovingly now, and Steve looks right at him as he takes Bucky’s hand and laces their fingers together. He can comfort Bucky and stick it to some old guy at the same time. Two birds with one stone. The guy crosses his arms and clicks his tongue a little.

Bucky glances at him and follows his sightline to the guy, and his anger from the store floods back into his face. Now Steve feels bad. He shouldn’t care what some old guy thinks when Bucky’s already having a hard time.

But then Bucky looks back at him, raising his eyebrows questioningly as flicks is his eyes in the guy’s direction, and Steve knows exactly what he’s thinking—Bucky wants to show him what for, too. So Steve grins a little and leans in.

Bucky meets him halfway and kisses him, open-mouthed and wet, and Steve takes a sharp breath almost against his will. Jesus, Bucky isn’t messing around. But if Bucky’s all in, so is Steve, so grabs onto Bucky’s belt loop and tugs, pulling Bucky closer. Bucky makes a noise that Steve can _feel_ and Steve, without thinking, reaches up a hand to tangle in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky freezes for a second, and it comes crashing down on Steve: Bucky doesn’t like people touching his hair. Steve stops too, and he’s about to pull his hand away and apologize, but then Bucky winds his arm tighter around Steve’s back and slips his tongue into Steve’s mouth.

Steve’s never made out like this in public—hell, he’s only made out like this in _private_ a few times—and he can feel how flushed his cheeks are. He’s also starting to get hard, and Bucky’s hand on his inner thigh isn’t doing anything to help that. He tries to think of something else, something safe, but it’s a little difficult with Bucky’s lips against his and Bucky’s soft hair between Steve’s fingers.

Finally, the guy gets off at the next step, muttering under his breath as he passes them, and Bucky pulls away. Steve’s panting a little, and he wants to tell himself it’s because his fall allergies make breathing through his nose a little less than easy. Bucky’s lips are bright red.

“Showed him,” Steve jokes weakly.

“Yeah, definitely,” Bucky says, and he sounds a little out of breath, too. They both have a bit of a hard time looking each other in the eye the rest of the way home, and they don’t talk about it again.

  
Friday finally rolls around, and Steve’s sitting on the couch while Bucky’s gathering his things for his appointment with Stark. Steve’s doing his best to act like he’s not watching Bucky like a hawk, but he completely is. He’s half-afraid Bucky’s just not going to go. Or he’s going to go and downplay the overheating thing. Or not even tell Stark. Not because he thinks Bucky’s incompetent, but because he thinks Bucky’s too stubborn and stoic for his own good. Bucky comes into the living room and catches Steve watching him.

Bucky rolls his eyes and sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “Well?” He says.

“What?” Steve asks innocently.

“You coming with me or not?”

Steve scrambles up off the couch. “You don’t mind?” He asks as he puts on his shoes.

“I got a choice?” Bucky mutters.

Steve stops. “Of course you do.”

Bucky waves a hand around. “Come on,” he sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

Steve looks up at Stark Tower, shaking his head a little. Just because he knows Stark isn’t secretly still manufacturing weapons in there doesn’t mean his building isn’t ugly anymore.

Bucky leads him around the block, and Steve gives him a confused look. “Back door,” Bucky reveals. “Less publicity.”

That does impress Steve a bit, and he has to grudgingly hand it to Stark to think of that. The thought of Bucky having to wade through reporters and protesters and tourists every month to get inside the building for an appointment he already doesn’t want to go to makes Steve cringe.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” a smooth British voice says when they’re standing at a nondescript door, and Steve glances around.

“It’s a computer,” Bucky tells him, and there’s a hint of excitement in his voice that makes Steve think about all the science fiction books piled up on Bucky’s desk.

“A computer that talks?” Steve asks, a little warily. He’s seen movies that start like that and always end badly.

“He’s a good computer,” Bucky promises, a little teasing, and the computer-voice says,

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes. Visitor badges are waiting in the slot. May I have the name of your companion?”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says, slightly nervous, not sure how loud he needs to speak for the computer to hear him. Where is the computer?

“Mr. Barnes, will Mr. Rogers be accompanying you into the lab?” The computer asks as they take badges and the door beeps before letting them inside.

Steve glances at Bucky. Will he? “Yes,” Bucky says, leading Steve to a set of stairs. He bypasses the elevator, Steve notices.

“Is that going to be alright with Stark?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs, and the computer says, “Certainly, Mr. Rogers. Mr. Barnes is absolutely allowed support during his visits. You will have to sign a nondisclosure form, however.” He—it?—sounds a little apologetic now. Steve narrows his eyes a little. Bucky gives him a warning look before he can ask what kind of nondisclosure agreement.

After the fourth flight of stairs, Bucky looks contrite. “Shit, Steve, we can take the elevator. I didn’t think—”

“I’m fine,” Steve says, not even panting. He’s holding his breath a little to keep from panting, sure, but it’s not even audible in his voice. “I didn’t go to Thor’s yesterday so. You know. Good workout.” He remembers how Bucky feels about elevators. He’s taken the stairs for way worse reasons.

Bucky cracks a smile. “Gotta get your cardio in.”

“Exactly,” Steve says, using talking as an excuse to gasp for air a little.

“We’re almost there,” Bucky promises apologetically.

“I could do this all day.” It’s a complete lie, but Bucky is a good friend and doesn’t call him on it.

They pause outside some glass doors, and Bucky pretends to be checking something on his badge so Steve can catch his breath before they go in. It fills Steve with gratitude that’s undercut with a little embarrassment.

“My bionic man!” Tony Stark calls out when they finally go in. “Has it been a month already? I missed you so.” Bucky just rolls his eyes and doesn’t even say anything. “And who are you?” Stark adds.

“Steve Rogers,” the computer supplies. “He may currently have trouble speaking because of his asthma.”

Steve throws a betrayed look at the ceiling for the computer ratting him out like that. “I’m fine,” he insists.

“Do I know you?” Stark asks. “You look very familiar to me.”

“We’ve never met,” Steve says carefully.

“He is on the list, sir,” the computer says. “Last August.”

Stark snaps his fingers. “You’re one of my protesters.”

Steve is horrified. “You keep track?”

Stark gives him a look like he’s an idiot, which doesn’t exactly endear him to Steve. “I get twelve death threats a day, kid. Do I keep track of people who park themselves in front of my building and yell at me angrily? Yeah, I do. J, what was our friend here protesting?”

“Weapons manufacturing,” Steve cuts in before the computer can. “And your lack of transparency in your R&D division.”

Stark nods. “Okay. One of that crowd. I can jive with that a lot better than the ones protesting my lack of morals in conjunction with supermodels.”

Steve shrugs. “The only lack of morals I care about involve dead children.”

Something flashes over Stark’s face for the briefest second. “Well, Mr. Steve Rogers, you’ll be happy to know I’m not in the war business anymore. Not that side of it anyway.” He gestures to Bucky’s arm. “Trying to fix the things I broke.”

“You didn’t break me,” Bucky speaks up, and something in Steve puffs up in pride.

“I’m being figurative, Terminator,” Stark says, waving a screwdriver. Steve feels his jaw clenching. He could do without Stark calling Bucky names. “Shall we?”

Steve trails behind them, since Bucky obviously knows where they’re going. There are two stools next to a computer and a low metal table with some tools on it. Steve’s a little surprised when Bucky and Stark both sit on the tools. He kind of expected Bucky to be examined in, well, an exam room.

“Dum-E,” Stark calls. “Another stool, please.” He gives Steve a pointed look. “Here _inside_ the building we don’t stand for hours at a time.” Steve rolls his eyes a little.

A robot comes over, beeping, pushing a stool along the floor. Steve can’t help the delighted little _oh_ that comes out of his mouth. It’s a _real life robot_. The robot abandons the stool about two feet from Steve and rolls over to Bucky, beeping more insistently now.

“Dum-E, the stool,” Stark says, pointing at it. Dum-E ignores him and he sighs loudly. “Well, Rogers, you’ll have to do the rest of it yourself.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says. He likes the little robot.

“Why is Dum-E obsessed with you today, hmm?” Stark asks. The look on his face says he’s asking rhetorically. “Could it be because I just added a therma-reading upgrade to his system yesterday and you are literally radiating heat?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, you’re the scientist,” he says.

“Shirt off, please,” Stark says, then shoots Steve a faux-sweet little look. “Not making you jealous, am I?”

Bucky gives him a dirty look as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Is Dr. Banner coming in today?”

“Only if we need him to,” Stark says, looking up from where he’d been watching Bucky’s metal fingers maneuver the buttons. “Is the neurolink not working?”

Bucky hunches his shoulders a little, half-glancing at Steve before focusing on his shirt and saying, too-casually, “Sometimes it doesn’t, uh, react the way I mean it to.”

Steve gives Bucky an accusing look that Bucky ignores. “Bucky,” he chides. Bucky didn't tell him that. He almost expects Stark to make some smart comment, but Stark’s brow is furrowed.  
  
“What do you mean, it doesn’t react the way you mean it to?” He asks. “Jarvis, have you scanned?”

“Not yet, sir; you didn’t warn Mr. Barnes that I would be.”

“Good for a scan?” Stark asks, and Bucky nods.

“Um, sometimes it grabs things harder than I thought I’d be grabbing, or it kinda…jerks and twitches a little bit. And the, uh, the overheating thing.”

He finally pulls the shirt off his shoulders and Stark hisses when he sees the blisters on Bucky’s skin. “How long has this been happening?” He demands, a question Steve’s dying to be answered, too.

Bucky looks down at his hands. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “Steve noticed the overheating last week.”

Stark purses his lips. “You know, Barnes, I’m a busy guy, a real important guy, some might even say, but you could have called me up and asked me to find time to fit you in when the tech _I_ attached to you was _burning you_. You’re the Tin Man, not the Scarecrow, you know? You’re supposed to already have brains.”

Bucky’s jaw is clenched tightly, and Steve interrupts, “Hey, shut the hell up. Quit calling him names and don’t call him stupid.”

Stark raises his eyebrows at Steve. “You’re like a Chihuahua, aren’t you? All tiny and ready to fight all the time.”

“Stark,” Bucky says sharply.

“Oh, okay, I can call you names but Occupy Wall Street over there’s off limits?” Stark asks.

“Yes, he is,” Bucky says.

 _I’m fine_ , Steve signs quickly at him. _Are you?_

Bucky makes a face. _Yeah, I’m having fun._ Steve has to mentally supply the sarcasm he knows Bucky is throwing at him.

“Can you fix his arm?” Steve steers the conversation back on track. “I mean, this isn’t just a side effect you thought could happen, right? This is a malfunction?”

“This is a malfunction,” Stark agrees, though he doesn’t seem happy to say it. “I only affix body modifications that could potentially kill people to myself.” He actually looks genuinely sorry when he says, “I’m gonna have to open it up.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, and then he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I can—okay. Without the sedative. Can Jarvis do the—” He gestures with one hand.

“J,” Tony calls, and classical music starts flowing through the room. Bucky’s starting to breathe a little faster, squeezing his eyes shut, and he requests,

“Tell me before you turn it on.”

Steve has no idea what’s going on, but concern is thrumming through every part of him. “Buck?” He asks quietly. “Are you…” He trails off. It’s pointless to ask if Bucky’s okay; the answer is very obviously no. Bucky swallows hard.

“Can you…” Bucky holds out his right hand, not even opening his eyes, and Steve leaps out of his seat immediately to get to Bucky’s side.

“Bring the stool,” Stark suggests. “This is going to take a while.”

Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand so he can retrieve the stool, but he’s back in seconds, sitting as close to Bucky as he can. Bucky’s squeezing his hand, and he squeezes tighter when Stark says, gentler than Steve would have expected,

“Okay, Barnes, ready?”

Bucky nods jerkily, and Stark turns on an electric screwdriver to start pulling apart the plates in Bucky’s arm. Steve feels sick as he considers why this would be so distressing for Bucky. Bucky’s shuddering as he tries to control his breathing, and Stark’s face is screwed up in concentration.

Steve runs his hand up and down Bucky’s arm, and it takes him a minute to even realize he’s talking. He’s not really saying anything, just nonsense in Bucky’s ear, wishing he could do anything to make this easier. He can’t believe Bucky’s been doing this alone for months and months, just a computer playing classical music and Stark cracking jokes to help him.

“It’s gonna be fine, Buck, I promise,” Steve babbles, even though he can’t really promise that. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you ever again. We can go home and make a blanket fort, huh? In the living room just like when I had that bad night. And you can pick any movie and I won’t complain, even if you wanna watch _Far and Away_ for the nine millionth time. And we can order real pizza, with real cheese, and we’ll use the delivery so we don’t have to go out. I’ll call Clint to bring Lucky over, how’s that?”

Stark finally shuts off the screwdriver, the room suddenly quiet without its buzz, and Bucky relaxes a fraction.

“Don’t open your eyes,” Stark warns. Steve glances over at Bucky’s other side and gasps a little when he sees it. Stark’s opened his arm up at the shoulder, where it meets Bucky’s skin, and Steve can _see bone_. The bone is reinforced with metal that hooks into the arm, but that’s still the inside of Bucky’s arm, bone and muscle and sinew and a whole lot of harsh scar tissue that makes anger well up in Steve’s throat.

He pictures the mottled remains of Bucky’s arm clinging onto his body all those months, fever wracking his body as the infection spread through him, and the experiments they did on him to see if he could withstand the infection longer. Steve has never particularly wanted to kill anyone, but he knows he would do it to the people responsible for this if he had the chance.

Stark clicks something into Bucky’s arm and readouts spread across the computer screen. He pushes buttons and mutters to himself, nothing Steve can understand, and Bucky’s got his eyes closed tight the whole time.

“Did I ever tell you about the fight I got into in sixth grade?” Steve asks. “Which one, right?” He jokes, and Bucky makes a little noise that might be an attempt at a laugh. “I got suspended for two days. Which was an _outrage_ , I’ll have you know, and my mother protested the school board.”

“Oh, it’s genetic,” Stark says under his breath, poking around inside Bucky’s arm. Steve notices with approval that Dum-E hands him a tube of burn salve.

“See, there was this kid, Billy Lucas. God, he was the worst bully in the world. And he was making kids pay a toll to cross the playground. You could pay him fifty cents or take a gut-punch to get across his ‘turf’ and he and his buddies would beat you up after school if you didn’t pay up. Real entrepreneur. Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to take that. I didn’t have fifty cents to be paying him every day, and taking a gut punch just for no good reason wasn’t great, either, so every day I ignored ‘em and every day they found me after school and beat me up. And I got real sick of it, so I made myself a plan. I’d just seen _Home Alone_ , you know, where the kid protects his house from the robbers? So I had some ideas. Only I didn’t wait until we were off school grounds before I started throwing all these Legos and Christmas ornaments at Billy and his friends, so a teacher saw me and I guess they thought I was trying to shank the guy with a piece of glass. I didn’t exactly think it through, which, you know, happens to me a lot. So I got suspended and I got grounded for breaking all my Ma’s nice Christmas ornaments. And we couldn’t afford any new ones, either, so we had to make all our decorations that year and I just felt so sick every time I looked at our tree. But she was definitely on my side about Billy being a creep.”

Stark stares at him a little when he’s done with his story. “The fact that you told that whole story like it was just another fun anecdote from your childhood says so much about you,” he comments, and Steve flushes a little. He hadn’t thought much about how the story would sound to Stark, especially the part about not being able to afford new ornaments.

Steve had cried for an hour after his mother had explained, completely gently and without blaming him at all, that they couldn’t buy new ornaments and what good luck they had that Steve was such a great artist because they could make their own, because he’d known it was just another thing he’d done wrong for his ma to stress about. He’d saved up money all the next year from the odd jobs their old neighbors, the Sampsons, let him do around their house when he wasn’t sick so he could buy new ornaments for the tree.

“What happened to him?” Bucky asks, voice rough. “Billy.”

“No idea,” Steve says with a shrug. “He’s probably rich.” He’d learned long ago that the Hollywood idea that his tormentors would grow up to be unsuccessful is nothing but a crock. Gilmore Hodge owns four Dairy Queen franchises.

“Alright,” Stark says. “I’m gonna close it up. Okay? It’ll go faster than opening it.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and nods, and Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand and puts his other hand on Bucky’s leg, rubbing little circles against Bucky’s knee.

It does go faster this time, and soon Stark’s turned off the screwdriver. “Okay,” he says. “Want to go sit in the other room to talk it over or are you fine staying in here?”

Bucky lets out a slow breath and finally opens his eyes. “We can stay here.”

Stark makes a motion like he’s throwing something out of his empty hand, and the air lights up with a bunch of projections.

“Whoa!” Steve cries, hating how smug Stark looks.

“Yes, just a little thing to come out of my _horrible_ R &D department.”

“Maybe if you told people what was going on in your R&D department we wouldn’t be so worried that it’s horrible,” Steve mutters.

“Barnes, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

Bucky’s face goes a little pale. “Are you going to take the arm?” He asks, not answering Stark’s question. “I promise I’m doing everything you said. I always keep it covered and I don’t let anyone take pictures of it or anything, honest. Please don’t take it back.”

“So the good news—no, I’m not taking the arm. And even if I had to, it wouldn’t be your fault,” Stark adds. “Rhodey says none of the brass have been talking about the prosthetics, so you’re obviously keeping it secret.”

Bucky sighs in relief. “I don’t want to go back to not having an arm,” he mumbles.

“He has to keep it secret?” Steve asks. “That’s not fair.”

Stark looks a little impatient. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not fair that the government would be all over our asses if they knew about it and, you know, try to find a way to weaponize the tech. I’m a little surprised that’s not the first place _your_ mind goes, since you supposedly don't trust The Man. I’ve got an inside guy making sure we’re all clear, and that’s why Jarvis is going to print you a nice stack of papers Pepper usually has ready for people to sign, but she’s at a conference in D.C. today.”

Steve knows Stark’s comments about the government taking the technology are true, and he feels foolish for not thinking of it. “What’s the bad news?” He asks worriedly.

“We’re going to have to do surgery. There’s a glitch in the neural interface.”

“A _glitch_?” Steve echoes in disbelief. “Is that the technical term?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you _understand_ the technical term?”

“Surgery?” Bucky says, voice shaking a little. “I…I hate surgery.”

“I’m sorry,” Stark says, completely sincere. “But if we don’t fix it before it gets worse it could actually do damage in your brain.”

Bucky covers his eyes with his hands, but not before Steve sees tears in them. “Okay,” Bucky says thickly. “Um. When?”

“I’ll have to coordinate with Helen and Bruce,” Stark says. “See when they’re available. It’s mostly up to Helen, since she’s the surgeon. I…” He hesitates. “I know she’s out of the country until November.”

“November?” Steve says. “What about the burning?”

Stark nods. “I know. It’s not ideal at all, but she’s training brain surgeons at a new hospital in Papa New Guinea and it's the method she invented so it's not like anyone else can just take over for her. For now, I inserted a cooling pack into the arm itself and rewrote some of the programming, so if it gets ten degrees above body temperature it’ll start to cool itself down.” He shakes his head. “Bruce will have to read the brain scans to see how bad that end of it is.”  
  
Bucky’s right hand is shaking as he lowers his hands from his face. He sniffles a little. “Okay.”

Stark looks concerned. “Barnes, are you processing what I’m saying?” He asks frankly. “Or are you shutting down on me?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “I can’t…” He shakes his head.

Steve grabs his hand again. “When will, uh, Bruce know how bad the brain part is?”

“I sent him the scan Jarvis just did of your brain.” Steve appreciates that Stark is still talking mostly to Bucky, even if Bucky’s not entirely listening anymore. “He’s just upstairs. I’ll call him in ten minutes to make sure he’s looking at them.”

“Do we just wait here?” Steve asks.

“After our fun little visits Barnes usually comes into the workshop and pokes around at my toys,” Stark says. Then, almost like he can’t help himself, he adds, “I keep offering to let him look at _all_ my toys, if you catch my drift, but you must have stars coming out your ass because he never takes me up.”

“Pepper,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, yeah, I got Pepper. I think she’d give me a pass for you.” Stark winks and Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Come on, Buck,” Steve says soothingly. “You want to see some more robots or…whatever’s going on in there? You got flying cars?” He asks Stark. Bucky loves flying cars. Stark makes a sour face.

“No,” he grumbles. “Enough with the flying cars.”

Bucky follows them, and walking seems to help him—moving, getting away from the table with the medical tools on it.

“Did you ever finish that flying suit?” He asks as Stark hands Steve a clipboard full of papers to sign.

“Oh, good, you’re back online,” Stark says. “Yes, I did, though it still needs some, ah, tinkering.”

“Did you light yourself on fire?” Bucky asks, even smiling faintly.

“No,” Stark says, affronted. “Not myself.”

The elevator doors to their left open and a man with curly graying hair steps out, talking to a tablet. “Yeah, I’m down in the lab—oh, there you are, hi.”

“Hi, Dr. Banner,” Bucky says.

“Hello, Bucky,” the woman on the tablet says.

“Hi, Dr. Cho.” He looks at Steve. “Um, this is Steve. Steve, these are…” He shrugs. “The people who made my arm.”

“Hi,” Steve says, awkwardly waving his pen.

“We looked at the brain scan,” Dr. Cho says. “I don’t think the problem with the arm is actually harming your brain. It’s just not communicating with it the way it should be.”

“You don’t _think_?” Steve can’t help but say. He’s gone his whole life under the impression that scientists do things with a bit more surety than _I think_ and _glitch_. Dr. Cho gives him a little smile.

“You must be Bucky’s husband we’ve heard nothing about.”

Steve flushes a little. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “So, um, you’re not sure his brain’s okay?”

“We know my brain ain’t okay,” Bucky mutters. Steve gives him a dark look.

“We know it will at least be fine until we can do the surgery,” Dr. Banner says. “But you started school, didn’t you? We should probably wait for your winter holiday. We’ll need to keep you under observation for at least three days, and you’ll need at least two weeks of recovery time.”

“Do I…” Bucky hesitates. “Do we have to do it at a hospital?”

“No,” Bruce says immediately, then looks at Stark. “No?”

“No,” Stark confirms. “We’ll do it here.” He looks at Dr. Cho. “That fly with you?”

“It flies just fine with me.”

Bucky relaxes a little. “Okay. December.”

“December,” Stark echoes, and Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho both nod. Bucky rubs at the back of his neck and checks Steve’s progress on the nondisclosures. Steve signs the last one and nods at him.

“So, um. Are we…are we done for today?” Bucky looks exhausted. He’s already done a full day of class before this, and Steve can’t imagine the emotional toll this takes on him.

Stark looks at Dr. Banner. “You got anything?” Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho both shake their heads. “We can be done,” Stark says. “But I want you to come back in two weeks instead of a month. And _call me_ if anything starts acting up.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

He tries to suggest they take the elevator back up, and Steve just glares at him and heads for the stairs. After everything that just happened, there’s no way he’s going to let Bucky be stoic about something as easy to work around as the elevator.

They hardly talk on the way home, but Steve feels jittery, like he needs to keep touching Bucky to make sure he’s okay. He keeps their shoulders pressed together on the train, links their arms together when they’re walking down the street. Bucky’s practically weaving on his feet, he’s so tired. He’s actually leaning on Steve, and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever realized that Bucky is _heavy_.

It’s only seven pm by the time they get home, but Steve wants to suggest they go to bed because he wants Bucky to sleep. He has a feeling it’s going to be a rough night, because he suddenly realizes Bucky has exceptionally horrible nightmares one night a month and it's not exactly a logical leap to figure out why.

“You want to eat something?” Steve asks, rubbing Bucky’s back.

“Don’t baby me,” Bucky pleads softly, hanging his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Bucky, I—” Steve breaks off. “I just keep thinking about how scary that must be every single month, and how awful it is, and I’m not babying you because I think you can’t handle it all. I’m babying you because…because I want you to feel better. It’s not babying, right? When I got out of the hospital you made me let you take care of me. This is the same thing, okay? I’m just…” He lifts his hands helplessly. “All I can do is feed you and be nice to you. That’s literally the only thing I can do in this situation, and it’s not enough, it’s nothing, but I have to do _something_.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine,” he mumbles. “But just heat up leftovers.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to go to any extra trouble for you,” Steve jokes, and Bucky musters up a trembling little smile.

“I gotta do some reading while you do that,” he says. “My essay’s due on Monday.”

Steve wants to protest, tell him to take the rest of the day off, but he can see in Bucky’s eyes that he’s determined to do it and Steve knows at least 80% of that determination has to be Bucky wanting to act normal.

“You’d think you wouldn’t need to work so hard on _Frankenstein_ , since you and the monster have so much in common,” Steve says carelessly, and then he wants to choke on his own tongue. “Because you have a weird face,” he blurts. “Not because…”

Bucky stares at him for a second, and then he cracks up laughing. “Steve,” he says, laughing helplessly. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

“Putting my foot in my mouth every time I open it is perfect?” Steve grumbles, relieved Bucky isn’t mad at him or hurt by his dumb comment.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “It really is.”

“Whatever,” Steve huffs, blushing a little.

After they’ve eaten and brushed their teeth and are in bed, the lights off and the air quiet and still, Bucky says softly,

“Hey, don’t say anything to my ma about the surgery, okay? It’s something I gotta tell her at the right time. She has a hard time with me and hospitals and surgery.”

Steve wants to roll over and face Bucky, wants to tell him there’s no way in hell Winifred possibly wants him to worry himself over protecting her feelings at the sake of his own, but he forces himself not to. The last thing Bucky needs right now is Steve acting like a know-it-all, especially about something concerning Bucky’s own mother. He knows her better than Steve does.

“Okay,” Steve promises. There’s a long pause where Steve would think Bucky had fallen asleep if he couldn’t feel Bucky’s chest moving against his back, too shallow for sleep just yet.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” Bucky whispers, quiet as a breath.

“Any time, Buck,” Steve says, and he’s almost a little surprised at just how fervently he means it. Because he does mean it. Any time. Any _thing_. It might be the over-emotional day, it might be how secure he feels with Bucky’s nose pressed against the back of his neck, it might be the dark, but Steve feels, in that moment, there isn’t a thing on earth he wouldn’t do for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to link this, but I wrote a scene from a previous chapter from Bucky's POV [here](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com/post/126971012485/lol-i-wrote-this-so-much-faster-than-i-thought)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some talk of past bullying in this chapter, just a head's up.

They’ve been going to Thor’s and working out on Saturday mornings lately, but Bucky actually sleeps in for once, especially needed after a long night of tossing and turning and jerking awake with a muffled cry, and Steve wakes up around eight and notices the time but lets Bucky sleep. He also burrows back down under the covers, a nip of fall in the air, and goes back to sleep, too, because he’ll take any chance to sleep in he can get. For some reason, sleeping in the morning is easier than sleeping at night.

“You should’ve woken me up,” Bucky says, a little crossly, once they’re both up and about, and Steve has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back. His judgement’s not always great in the mornings, but he can appreciate that Bucky’s not feeling his best at the moment.

“I didn’t wake up either,” Steve points out. “Am I supposed to sleep-wake you up?” His voice comes out a little snippier than he’d resolved to sound, but at least it’s not as bad as he thought.

Bucky glowers and doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t been sullen like this in the morning for months, really, and it threatens to put Steve in a bad mood, too, which isn’t exactly hard to do, especially in the morning. But he takes a deep breath and reminds himself of the way Bucky’s hand had trembled yesterday, the way Bucky’s eyes filled with tears when Stark told him he had to have surgery, and he resolves to at least keep himself civil, if not cheerful.

Bucky pulls a protein bar out of the cupboard, and Steve fights to keep a frown off his face. If Bucky’s resorting to eating protein bars instead of making himself food, it’s not going to be a good day.

But when Steve says, voice full of forced cheer, “You want some of this oatmeal?” and Bucky doesn’t immediately bite his head off, he thinks maybe it won’t be as bad as he’d feared.

“No,” Bucky says, and at least he’s talking, even if it’s monosyllabic. Then he adds, “Thanks.”

Steve can’t help it—it makes him smile a little. Even on a bad day where he can hardly talk, Bucky does his best to be polite. Knowing how scary Winifred can get, Steve can understand it, but it still makes him laugh a little.

They end up in the living room; Steve takes a break from his comic to read one of Bucky’s old science fiction novels, and Bucky’s still taking notes on _Frankenstein_. Even just the fact that he’s out in the living room instead of hiding away makes Steve hopeful that he’s not having _too_ horrible a day.

Steve’s not _trying_ to be hyperaware of Bucky but he can’t seem to _help_ it, and that’s why he notices that Bucky hasn’t turned a page in over ten minutes. He tries to casually glance over at Bucky and sees his brow is furrowed.

“Bucky?” Steve asks softly.

Bucky puts his book down angrily. “I can’t—the words just…” He sounds on the verge of tears and Steve wonders how much is frustration over the book and how much is left over from Stark’s exam last night.

“Hey,” Steve says. “It’s okay. Let it go for a while and pick it back up later. We could go to Thor’s now.”

“I can’t,” Bucky insists. “I…” His face goes red. “I haven’t even finished the book yet.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He swallows hard.

Bucky looks away. “Monday’s an extension,” he adds miserably.

Steve closes his eyes for a second. Why can’t Bucky catch a break? Why does everything have to be so hard for him? He’s trying so hard. Steve can hear Bucky clearing his throat, trying to be quiet, which probably means he’s crying.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” Steve ventures. “You said listening’s easier.”

“I used to be smart,” Bucky says, voice wet, and Steve feels his own throat getting tight.

“You’re still smart,” Steve insists. They’re not looking at each other. Steve can tell Bucky doesn’t want him to see him crying, so he’s doing his best to respect that. He also thinks if he looks at Bucky and sees how upset he is, he might cry himself. “You just need a little help, that’s all. And I’m right here.”

The muscle in Bucky’s cheek is jumping from his clenched jaw, and Steve feels like he’s holding his breath. He might have used up his allowance of helping over the past few days; he knows he gets more impatient the more someone has to help him.

Bucky wordlessly hands over the book, his lips pursed. Steve licks his lips and looks down at the page. Bucky has a bookmark that extends all the way across the page, underlining the line of text.

“This interfered with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task,” Steve reads. “Yet at the commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many hours of lonely, maddening reflection.”

Bucky pulls a notebook out of his backpack and picks up his pen, eyes trained on Steve while he reads. Steve can feel himself going red under Bucky’s stare. He’s got laser eyes or something. But eventually Steve relaxes as Bucky scribbles down notes. His throat starts to grow dry by the third chapter, and Bucky looks contrite.

“You can stop,” he says. “I’ll…I can do it.”

Steve looks over at Bucky’s page of notes, the block letters filling the page, and he shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says. “There’s only three chapters left.”

“Water,” Bucky says. He stands up. “I’ll get it.”

Steve would protest, but Bucky’s already in the kitchen, so he just says, “Okay, thanks.”

They’re at the last chapter, and the air’s heated up because it’s not quite fall yet but a little past summer, and the air conditioning kicks in and Steve has to read louder. Bucky’s eyes are drooping. Even the few hours of sleep he caught this morning weren’t terribly restful.

“Should I be offended?” Steve jokes after Bucky blinks himself awake again. Bucky gives him a tiny smile, sheepish and apologetic, and sits up straighter on the couch, shaking his head a little.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs.

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve assures him. “We’re almost done.”

Bucky does his best to take notes, but Steve can see him slipping. Steve himself is becoming engrossed, really; Frankenstein’s drive for revenge is keeping him tuned in. He knows he read the book in high school, but he doesn’t remember much about it, and he certainly doesn’t remember this.

Finally, he finishes the last page and closes the book, his voice going hoarse. Bucky is listing to the side, and Steve can’t stop his snort. Bucky blinks slowly at him, and one eye doesn’t quite open back up all the way.

“Just take a nap,” Steve whispers.

Bucky shakes his head a little. “I gotta…” He hums a little. “Write my essay.”

“You can write it when you wake up,” Steve insists. “Come on, Bucky.”

“’m’okay,” Bucky argues, mostly slurring at this point. Steve rolls his eyes and huffs. He reaches over and tugs at Bucky’s arm until Bucky is lying across the couch, head pillowed on Steve’s leg.

“I’ll wake you up in half an hour,” Steve promises. “Just catch a few winks so you’ll be ready to write your essay.” He hesitates a second, then thinks of the way Bucky hadn’t seemed to mind when Steve touched his hair on the train, so he lets his hand settle on Bucky’s head and stroke through his hair, hoping to lull him to sleep. “Is that okay?”

Bucky tenses up for just a second, then melts into Steve. “Mmhmm.”

In the end, Steve lets him sleep for a full hour, but mostly because he falls asleep himself. Bucky wakes up with his hair looking especially fluffy from Steve’s hands, but the shadows under his eyes are a little lighter. He looks a little panicked when he sees how long he slept, but then he catches sight of the line of drool from Steve’s mouth to the couch and lets out a real laugh for the first time in two days, and Steve can’t help but feel like the entire affair was a really big win.

  
On Wednesday, Steve’s eating cereal in his pajamas at eleven am, because that’s just the way his day started today, and there’s a buzz at the door. He considers ignoring it, because he’s got that deep feeling of exhaustion settling into his bones and he’s in his pajamas and his hair’s a mess, but then he worries it’s Sam or Natasha or maybe one of Bucky’s sisters, or maybe Bucky forgot his key again. It’s happened before, and once Bucky forgot his keys _and_ phone and Steve wasn’t home and Bucky had to sit in front of their front door for an hour before Mrs. Thompson took pity on him and invited him in for tea.

Steve looks over at the door, and it seems a thousand miles away. He uses the counter to pull himself to his feet and trudges over, and he’s almost surprised that he makes it.

“Yeah?” He says in the intercom.

“Hi, Steve, honey.” There’s a pause. “It’s Winifred.” Then she adds, “James’s mom.”

Steve laughs a little. Is she joking or does she honestly think he doesn’t know who she is? “Come on up,” he says, buzzing her through. When she knocks on the front door he looks down at himself and sighs. He at least runs a hand through his hair, since he can’t do anything else at this point.

“Hi,” he says, his shoulders hunching uncomfortably. “Uh, sorry I’m…” He waves at himself. “Come on in.”

Winifred waves off his apology. “I know you boys need your sleep, and goodness knows I take any opportunity I can get to avoid getting dressed in real clothes.” She squints at his shirt, her rising eyebrows making Steve blush. He’s wearing Bucky’s Army shirt. “Oh,” she says.

“Um, do you want…?” Steve trails off, glancing at his cereal bowl sitting forlornly at the table.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She gestures toward the table. “Well, get back to your food; it’s alright. I’ll talk, you eat, okay?”

“Alright,” Steve says awkwardly, obediently letting her herd him back into his seat. That must be where Bucky gets that sheepdog routine.

“I have something really important to ask you, Steve,” Winifred says, and her whole face is entirely serious. Steve gulps down a swallow of Cheerios, feeling nervous. He also feels vaguely like he’s about to get in trouble. He’s not sure why, exactly; maybe it’s a lingering instinct from a childhood full of visits to the principal.

“Okay,” he says.

“Now, I know you said you’d be happy to paint us something. But tell me really, Steve: do you have time? What I’d really like is for you to come to the house and spend an afternoon looking through the photo albums, to find a picture you think would be best to paint. But I don’t want to monopolize all your time.”

Steve blinks at her a few times. She looks totally earnest, and more than that, she looks almost _hesitant_.

“Of course I will,” he says. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to convince me or whatever. I’d love to.”

Winifred smiles at him, then leans over and pats his hand. “Honey, I came here to check up on you,” she says bluntly.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, going hot around the ears because his hair’s sticking up everywhere and he’s in his pajamas and he hasn’t even showered and he knows he looks even paler than usual. She presses her lips together and he looks away.

“If you ever need anything, you can ask, Steve,” she tells him softly, and maybe he’s extra emotional today because he’s having a rough day or maybe it’s just the thought of her mothering him, but he has to blink away tears.

“Sure,” he chokes out. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes for a second and he has to hold his breath to keep from crying.

“Okay,” she says, and her voice is a little shaky, too. “When are you free? Tomorrow? Friday?”

Steve is incredibly relieved that she changed the subject, and he also could kiss her for not expecting him to do anything today. He’d have to get _dressed_. It’s just not going to happen today; he can tell.

“I can do it tomorrow,” he promises, hoping it’s true.

Winifred looks at him for a minute, one of those searching, motherly looks he doesn’t get anymore, and he tries not to glare back. He can suddenly hear his mother scolding him, _Steven Rogers I will snatch those eyes out of your head if you keep giving me the stink-eye; don’t think I won’t_. It makes his chest ache a little, but it also makes him smile.

“Okay,” Winifred agrees. “Tomorrow. Any time you want. I’ll be out in the morning but I pulled some photo albums, so if you come while I’m gone, the key’s under the angel statue by the back door and the photo albums are in the den.”

Steve has to work a bit to keep his face neutral after the revelation of an angel statue by the back door, and Winifred sees right through him because she points at him and says, “Not one word about my Precious Moments. James always threatens to kick it down the stairs and I tell him I’ll just buy another one. We could use some angels watching out for us.”

Steve’s laughing a little, and it feels good to laugh, even if he feels a little achy. Winifred gives him another tight squeeze before she leaves, and it makes him feel a little better through the rest of the day. When Bucky gets home, he notes that Steve is still in his pajamas with a little rise in his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

“Your mom came over today,” Steve tells him. Bucky’s fork freezes before it reaches his mouth.

“Why?” He asks cautiously.

“She wants me to go over to your house tomorrow and look through photo albums to find something to paint for her.”

Bucky makes a face. “Oh great, just what I need. You getting more pictures of me looking like a doofus going through puberty.”

“And then painting them,” Steve reminds him solemnly. Bucky laughs a little, trying to keep a glare on his face. “I’ll have to draw them first,” Steve continues. “And keep the picture for a while, to keep checking it.”

“Stop it,” Bucky orders.

“And if Sam or Natasha or Clint comes over while I’m in the process, they’ll probably see the picture, too.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I was thinking, though,” Steve says, trying to keep his face serious. “Maybe I’ll paint you with angel wings, like that statue your ma said you love so much. The one on the back porch?”

Bucky cracks up, letting his fork fall with a clatter. “What a fucking asshole,” he gasps. “You’re the worst.”

Steve pouts. “A few days ago you told me I’m perfect. When did the romance die, Buck?”

Bucky grins at him, shaking his head. “Oh, Steve,” he says breathlessly, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re still perfect to me…honey…bear.”

Steve can’t take it anymore and breaks, laughing hard. “Honey bear?” He echoes.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t think of anything,” Bucky laughs. “Besides, you’re like a bear. With all your growling and grumpiness.”

“I’m not grumpy!” Steve protests. Bucky scoffs.

“I’m calling Natasha right now,” he threatens. “She’ll be on my side.”

“You don’t even have her number,” Steve says.

“The hell I don’t.” Bucky whips out his phone and soon he’s shoving it in Steve’s face. _Natasha Romanoff_. “Snapchat, too,” he adds triumphantly.

“What? Since when are you guys such good friends?” Steve doesn’t know why he sounds the way he does, petulant, like he doesn’t like that they’re friends. It’s not that he doesn’t like it. It’s just…weird.

Bucky gives him a strange look. “Don’t you have most of the Commandos’ numbers?” He asks.

“Well, yeah,” Steve admits. “But it’s…” He shrugs. It’s different somehow.

Now Bucky’s face looks pinched. “You can be friends with my friends but I can’t be friends with yours?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Steve says. “I don’t know what I meant.”

Bucky’s face is blank now, and Steve hates it. Why can’t they go back to laughing at each other like they were a second ago? He doesn’t think he can take a confrontation today, and he certainly can’t take awkwardness.

“Whatever,” Bucky mutters, going back to his food. Steve swallows hard. Why does he always ruin everything? They were having fun, and his stupid mouth had to speak without his brain’s permission and make everything weird.

They’re quiet for a while, the sound of forks against plates uncomfortably loud now, and Steve feels his appetite receding quickly. He doesn’t mean to be such an asshole. He really doesn’t. He just says things without thinking sometimes, or he thinks _too_ much about what he’s going to say, and he ends up being a jerk.

“Hey,” Bucky says urgently, like he’s just remembered something, and Steve looks up quickly. “When is Cap gonna punch Hitler in the face?”

“Huh?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks impatient. “In your comic. He’s gonna do it, right? He promised.”

“You actually read those?” Steve asks. Coming up with doodles for Bucky’s lunch was getting kind of hard, so for the last week or so he’s been slipping in parts of his new comic about Captain America.

Bucky looks at him like he’s ridiculous. “Of course I read them. You drew them and wrote them.”

He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s not silly that Steve’s a nobody making a comic just for fun, like it’s not annoying that Steve keeps putting them in his lunch, and Steve has to look down at the table for a minute to collect himself.

“Well, he hasn’t found Hitler’s secret bunker yet,” Steve says.

“Yeah but he _will_ ,” Bucky insists. “He’s a super soldier. Of course he can track down Hitler!”

Steve can’t help but smile. Bucky sounds like he actually cares, like what happens in Steve’s fantasy world is actually a big deal. Steve ducks his head a little so Bucky doesn’t see that he’s getting kind of emotional about it.

“Well, I’ll work on that,” he promises.

“Don’t waste your time on pictures of me,” Bucky says. “Just tell my ma you got better things to work on.”

Steve laughs a little. “Your mom asked me to do it so I’m going to do it. Besides, you’re actually fun to draw.”

“Am I?” Bucky asks, delighted. “Because I’m so hot, right? You love putting this down on paper.”

Steve’s face is burning. Bucky _is_ fun to draw because he’s so attractive, but Steve’s not going to tell him that. “It’s because your face is completely symmetrical,” he says. “Except for that one weird bump on your ear.”

Bucky scowls, rubbing the appendage in question. “I was born with it. It’s not my fault.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Steve tells him with a shrug. “It’s just interesting to draw.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sure, Steve. That’s why. Just admit it, you loooove my face. Someone oughtta make a statue of me.”

“I thought someone already did,” Steve says innocently. “Your ma has it on the back porch.”

Bucky’s shove almost knocks Steve out of his chair, but the easy laughter that settles between them again is entirely worth it.

  
Steve doesn’t have to use the spare key, because Winifred is home when he gets there, and he’s honestly a little disappointed he doesn’t get to see the angel statue. But he follows Winifred into the den, eager to see more pictures of Bucky growing up. Steve loves seeing pictures of people as kids. Maybe it’s because he never really had friends when he was a kid, or maybe it’s just because Steve loves comparing their kid-face to their adult-face, seeing what’s changed and what’s stayed the same.

“This one is all family photos,” Winifred says, opening one. The first picture is her and George, clearly on their wedding day. Winifred’s hair is teased so high it makes her taller than George, and Steve’s snorted before he can stop himself. Winifred laughs too.

“Oh, I know,” she groans. “But that was so fashionable at the time.”

The next picture includes Bucky, a tiny baby screaming his head off, and Steve grins immediately. “Oh, so he was always a complainer,” he jokes. Winifred smiles fondly, tapping at the baby Bucky in the picture.

“The funniest part of this picture is that James was the perfect baby,” she says. “He hardly ever cried. Did you know he started sleeping all the way through the night when he was two weeks old? I kept poking him because I was worried he’d gone and died on me or something. But he was just my little angel.” She shakes her head. “He did not like the cameraman, though. He screamed the whole day. I _still_ think George was pinching him so we’d leave faster.”

More kids join the pictures, and Winifred’s hair gets bigger before getting smaller, but Steve’s mostly focused on Bucky in every picture. He wonders what life would have been like, growing up as friends with Bucky, seeing the tooth fall out that’s missing in this picture, being there for the bike crash that caused the scrape on his face in that picture.

They come to the last picture in the album, and Steve’s shocked to see his own face. It’s the picture from Bailey’s graduation. He must make a noise of some kind, because Winifred smiles at him.

“You didn’t think I’d add this one?” She asks.

Steve shakes his head a little. “Won’t that be kind of awkward to explain in the future?”

Winifred shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks, surprised. “People will ask who that is—” He taps his face. “And you’ll have to say it’s Bucky’s ex-husband."

Winifred just shrugs again. “I guess.”

Steve can’t figure out why she’s being so strange, so he picks up the next photo album. He opens to the first page and sees a squishy baby getting a bath in a sink. It has to be Bucky, considering just what exactly Steve can see in the picture.

“That album’s all James,” Winifred tells him. She points to the stack. “Each of the kids has an album, plus one’s all family vacations and another’s extended family.”

“Who’s that?” Steve asks, pointing to the woman giving Bucky a bath.

“That’s George’s mother,” Winifred says, smiling softly. “Those two were thick as thieves. He wasn’t her first grandchild, but they were kindred souls, I guess. They used to play pranks on everyone else. No one suspected sweet old Grandma or James with his little angel smile.”

There’s a picture of them later, when Bucky’s a chubby toddler, making the exact same scrunched-up laughing face. Steve flips through the pages, watching Bucky grow up. He sees a few that he saw at the camp; there are a lot of skinned knees and sunburns.

A teenage Bucky is leaning against a minivan, keys in hand and a wide grin on his face. All the girls are with him, Beth missing her two front teeth.

“That was when he got his driver’s license,” Winifred remembers. “He was so excited and the first thing he did was take his sisters out for ice cream.” She shakes her head. “He’s always been such a kind boy,” she says, sounding a little choked now. “And he’s a good man.”

“He is,” Steve agrees. He didn’t realize she was going to get so emotional, and he feels a little awkward. He’s not really great at dealing with emotional outbursts, his own or other people’s.

“He always acts so tough, Steve, and he _is_ tough, he’s strong, but he’s very sensitive, too.” She’s looking at him, her eyes big and serious, and Steve’s not sure how he’s supposed to react. “His heart breaks easily, even if he pretends it doesn’t. He doesn’t want people to know, because he doesn’t want to be a burden, and I think he’s afraid people will say it’s because he’s gay.”

Steve thinks of the way Bucky hides behind his hair, keeps his face blank and gruff, and nods. “I know,” he says.

“It’s important that those of us who know the real James keep that in mind,” she tells him. Her voice sounds pointed, but Steve doesn’t know what she’s pointing _at_. “You wouldn’t do anything that would hurt him, would you, Steve?”

“No,” Steve says quickly. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

She looks at him for another moment, head tipped to the side, and then she says slowly, “You care about James, don’t you?”

Steve can feel himself blushing. He does, but he doesn’t want Winifred to get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want her to get worried he’s in _love_ with Bucky or anything like that. He knows the rules of this whole thing, and he doesn’t want her to think he’s going to try to break them.

“Well, he’s…” Steve shrugs. “Honestly, Winifred, he’s my best friend.”

She nods solemnly. Steve still feels like he’s missed something, like they’re having two different conversations. She puts her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so happy you were the one I found,” she says. “You’re very good to James.”

“He’s very good to me,” Steve replies honestly.

She nods again, still giving him that considering look, and he glances back down to the photo album to escape her gaze. Bucky’s in a tux, an arm wrapped around the waist of a girl in a big, frilly dress.

“What’s this?” He asks. Winifred looks down.

“His senior prom.”

“He went with a girl?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised; it makes total sense. He probably wouldn’t have been allowed to go with a boy, and Bucky already mentioned he wasn’t out in high school, anyway.

Winifred raises her eyebrows. “That was his girlfriend, Clara Adams.”

“He had a _girlfriend_?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Oh, he was kidding himself,” Winifred says. “He never really felt strongly about Clara and we all knew it. They were good friends, though, so I think he tried to keep that going longer than he really should’ve.”

Clara’s pretty, though she kind of looks more like she could be Bucky’s sister than his date. It’s also a picture from high school, so she looks more _cute_ than _pretty_ , still a touch of childhood roundness to her cheeks.

“When did he come out to you?” Steve asks. He’s fascinated by all this. Why haven’t he and Bucky ever talked about it?

Winifred laughs a little. “Well, he _told_ us just before he left for basic training. I knew since he was fourteen, though.”

Steve wrinkles his brow. “How’d you know?” He asks cautiously, half-afraid Winifred’s going to cite some kind of gay stereotype. She snorts.

“I saw him kissing the neighbor boy out by the trashcans. Hope the Army taught him to be sneakier than he was in high school, my God. Don’t tell George I’m making this joke, but it’s no surprise he was captured, really. He’s about as subtle as a freight train most of the time.”

Steve can’t help the shocked little laugh that bubbles up out of his throat. Winifred looks guilty.

“Oh, now, I shouldn’t have made that joke. My heart’s hurting over it.”

“Bucky would absolutely laugh at that,” Steve assures her.

“I know he would, and I always get mad at him for jokes like that. We’ll just keep that one between us, right?”

“Sure,” Steve promises, grinning. “Does he know you saw him kissing a boy?”

“He does now,” Winifred says. “I never told him back then, though. I honestly didn’t know how to react to it. I wonder if it would’ve made things easier for him in high school. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so miserable.”

Now she looks _really_ guilty, and sad, too, and Steve hates to see her looking so downcast. He likes when she’s being all bubbly and cheerful. He usually finds incredibly cheerful people kind of exhausting, honestly, but he likes that she’s happy.

“Yeah, well, I was out in high school and I’m pretty sure it made everything way worse,” he tells her, keeping his voice bright. She frowns at him.

“What do you mean?”

Steve shrugs. “Locker rooms were not a place I liked to be.”

Winifred narrows her eyes. “Did they bully you?” She asks. “Did other boys call you names?”

Steve barks out a little laugh, slightly bitter. “I would’ve preferred if they’d stuck to calling me names. Let’s just say I got in a lot more fights in high school than I do now.”

Winifred looks horrified. “They tried to hurt you? Didn’t anybody do anything about it?”

Steve thinks of the way Gilmore Hodge and his friends shoved him into a locker once, how they’d tried to close the door but Steve was kicking so hard and making so much noise they got caught. He thinks of towels whipped at him hard enough to raise welts, thinks of getting his head shoved in a toilet more than once.

“I didn’t tell any teachers,” he admits. “Tattling just makes it worse.” He’d learned that the hard way early in life, all the way back in grade school.

Winifred gathers him into her arms, like she can make his younger self feel better retroactively. “No one should have ever laid a finger on you,” she says fiercely. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but Steve feels his throat getting tight.

His own mother told him these kinds of things all the time—she told him they were lower than dirt for bullying him for his sexuality, told him he was brave and strong and better than them, cleaned up his scrapes and held him tight to her chest. She’d gone to his school only once to talk to the principal, and Steve had cried and begged her not to ever do it again.

“You always say I gotta fight for myself,” he’d reminded her, and she’d looked at him with tears in her eyes, one of the only times he remembered her crying, and took his face gently in her hands and said,

“I never meant for you to think you had to do it alone.”

But she’d agreed, when he told her it made things worse, not to go back. Now, hearing Winifred saying those same things, reminds him of coming home and falling apart after holding it together on the bus.

“Well, I’m alright now,” Steve says, trying not to think about how that’s not strictly true. Steve is a mess, quite honestly, and he’s got some kind of hole in his chest that he didn’t even realize was loneliness until a few months ago.

“You’re wonderful now,” Winifred corrects him, and Steve looks away, blushing. He doesn't know how to respond to that. She pats his back and releases him, thankfully, before he starts blubbering all over the place. He can’t think of many things more humiliating than crying on Bucky’s mom over bullies he hasn’t had to deal with in years.

He clears his throat and says, “Do you want a family picture? What kind of thing were you thinking?”

“Well, would that be easy to do?” She asks.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, pretty easy. All the kids have pretty similar shapes to their faces, and that makes it easier.”

Winifred chuckles. “You’re going to cheat and make them all look identical, aren’t you?’

Steve laughs. “I’m going to forget who’s who and you’re going to have four daughters in the picture.”

Winifred laughs way harder than Steve, then pulls out another photo album. Laughing too hard to speak, she turns to a page showing Bucky, surrounded by his sisters, long-sufferingly letting Becca put eyeshadow on him while Beth and Bailey paint his fingernails.

“Rebecca was crying earlier that day because she didn’t know how to do makeup like the other girls,” Winifred says. “And James told her she just needed to practice. But that made her cry harder because she said she didn’t want to look bad while she practiced, so…” Winifred shrugs.

It kills Steve’s laughter, kind of. He shakes his head. “Bucky’s too good sometimes.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there are plenty of times he tickled Beth until she peed her pants and told Bailey a ghost was hiding under bed and things like that. He and Rebecca fought like cats and dogs when they were about twelve and fourteen. James liked nothing better than to make her cry, I swear.” She rolls her eyes.

“It’s ‘cause he’s such a little shit,” Steve says, then makes an apologetic face for swearing. His own mother had sworn like a sailor, but Winifred doesn't seem the type. She’s nodding, though.

“He absolutely is,” she agrees. “He tricks people with that sweet face. It’s part of his charm though.” She gives him a significant look that he doesn’t understand.

“He’s pretty great,” Steve tries, not sure what she wants him to say. Winifred shakes her head a little, then smiles.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” she says. “Yell if you need anything.”

Steve makes a few rough sketches of different pictures and gets about half an idea he thinks Winifred might love. She sends him home with a dozen cookies and a few of the photo albums, and Steve feels a little sad as he makes his way home.

He’s going to miss Winifred when this is all over, and George, too. He’s going to miss the way they make their kids cringe by being sappy. He’s going to miss Jamie tugging at his pant leg and Ella blowing spit bubbles at him. He’s going to miss Beth’s nosiness and Bailey’s jokes and Becca’s dry sarcasm.

He’s feeling a little downcast when he gets inside, and Bucky’s lying on the couch with his biology book. His head pops up when Steve comes in.

“Steve!” He says excitedly. “Did you know you share 50% of the same DNA as your parents? Well, I think that’s what this book is saying. I'll find out tomorrow in the lecture if I'm understanding any of this. But isn’t that _cool_?”

Steve looks at Bucky, all lit up with his excitement, glasses slipping down his nose, and thinks of how animated Winifred gets when she talks, and he smiles softly.

“Yeah, Buck,” he says, heart hurting a little. “I think that’s awesome.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really wish I could've posted this earlier today, because that would mean I was writing most of today instead of what I was actually doing, which was trying (unsuccessfully) to find something to wear to my brother's wedding in a few weeks. This color scheme is very specific and very confusing to me, a person who would rather wear workout clothes than anything else.

Steve wakes up slow, which is standard. He wakes up with his face against Bucky’s collarbone and Bucky’s arm around his waist, which is also standard. But he wakes up completely hard, which is _not_ standard. Steve hasn’t woken up fully hard in months. Between his illnesses and his medications, erections are a bit sparse without some work.

Part of him is pretty excited. His body did something _normal_! He’s functioning! He wants to jump out of bed and rush off to the shower to take care of it the good ol’ fashioned way. Well, he muses, the good ol’ fashioned way for him. Other people probably consider the good ol’ fashioned way something involving another person, but Steve doesn’t exactly have a line of suitors waiting for him.

The problem, of course, is that he’s completely hard and he’s lying tucked under Bucky’s chin, his legs between Bucky’s. At the moment, Bucky’s still asleep, but if he wakes up he’s going to feel Steve’s issue. Steve’s face is on fire. This is so embarrassing. Why did this have to happen on a weekend? It couldn’t have been a nice Tuesday morning, when Bucky wakes up early and runs before class and Steve barely cracks an eye at him when he’s remembering if he stuck a doodle into Bucky’s lunch the night before.

Steve starts to ease his way away from Bucky, which wakes Bucky up. Of course. Steve wishes, not for the first time but the first time for this particular reason, that Bucky didn’t snap from asleep to awake so abruptly.

Bucky opens his eyes; no fluttering eyelashes here, just eyes closed one second and open the next. Steve freezes and gulps. Bucky’s brow furrows for about three seconds while he assesses his surroundings, and then he raises an eyebrow.

“Well, good morning,” he says teasingly.

“I…” Steve doesn’t know where he was planning to go with that sentence.

“Good job, Stevie,” Bucky congratulates him. Steve feels his forehead wrinkle in confusion.

“What?” He asks.

Bucky laughs a little. “Come on, I know how it is.” He shrugs ruefully. “You got one. Go!” He urges.

Steve blushes harder, if that’s even possible. He can feel his pulse in his face. “Um, what?” He squeaks a little. “You want me to go…?” He can’t finish the sentence. Now Bucky looks a little concerned.

“You’ve done it before, haven’t you?” He asks.

“Of course I have!” Steve blusters. “But I don’t know if I can do it if I know you know I’m doing it!”

Bucky laughs at him. Actually laughs at him. From where Steve’s sitting, this is not a laughing matter. “Sorry,” Bucky says quickly, trying to get himself under control. “I forgot you didn’t spend your whole life with the kind of semi-homoerotic male bonding I did.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks. If they keep talking, maybe his hard-on will go away. He can’t decide if he wants that. He should probably be embarrassed by the fact that he was looking forward to jacking off in the shower, but he kind of isn’t.

“Locker rooms,” Bucky says simply. “Long sports road trips. The Army, oh boy.” He waves a hand. “You got no idea. I’ve been in the middle of two guys jacking off more than once.”

“Please don’t tell me if it’s anyone I know,” Steve begs in a rush. He does _not_ want to think about any of the Commandos in that kind of scenario. Bucky laughs at him again.

“I’m just saying, it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky explains. “We’ve been bunking up together a while now, right, and neither of us have gotten one. So…” He shrugs. “Congratulations, and go ahead.”

Steve hesitates. On the one hand, he wants to. It’s been a long time, honestly, since he’s had the energy for anything, and now that he’s awake and feeling it he’s sort of in agony. On the other hand, isn’t it weird if he does it with Bucky right here in the bedroom knowing exactly what he’s doing? It’s not as bad as if Bucky were watching, but he’s worried he’ll be too self-conscious to actually be able to do anything.

His dick gives a little twitch. Apparently no, he won’t be too self-conscious. Now Bucky’s blushing. Maybe he’s not as okay with it as he said. It’s weird. Steve’s never had a friend say, “Hey, good job with that morning wood; go rub one out.”

But he’s got to make a decision. The situations either going to get way more embarrassing soon, or he’ll scare it away, and who knows when his next opportunity will come up? He laughs a little internally at his pun.

“Um…” He starts.

“Go on,” Bucky insists, making a little shooing motion and scooting away from him. “I’ll go in the living room and turn on the TV. You’ll have complete privacy.”

 _Except you’ll still_ know _I’m doing it_ , Steve thinks, but his stomach is clenching down low and he’s having some trouble holding the thread of the conversation very well, so he bites his lip and says, “Okay,” before quickly rolling off the bed.

It’s not as weird as he worried, and he’s too preoccupied to feel awkward as he strips down. He hears the TV click on, as promised, and even the Parks and Rec theme song doesn’t distract him. He turns on the water and hurries into the shower.

He was worried he’d feel weird about Bucky knowing what he’s doing, but it takes him hardly any time at all before he’s clenching his teeth to stay quiet. He pants, legs feeling like jelly, and only then does he start to feel how utterly strange the whole situation is.

God, he just jacked off in the shower only a wall away from Bucky and Bucky _knew_ it. Bucky must feel so uncomfortable right now. Steve wants to stay in the shower so he doesn’t have to try to look Bucky in the eye. But he doesn’t want to stay in the shower too long because what will Bucky think then? Bucky won’t possibly believe Steve has that kind of stamina. Oh God, Steve doesn’t want Bucky critiquing his stamina.

Steve rushes through soaping himself down and washing his hair, and he whacks his elbow on the side of the shower and drops the shampoo on his foot. Steve’s the type of guy who buys a shampoo/conditioner combo, because why not? But Bucky flatly refused, and it just seems more logical to share, so now Steve’s got a bruise forming on his foot from Bucky’s fancy shampoo.

All in all, it’s not quite the stress-relief he’d hoped for when he got in the shower.

He can’t meet Bucky’s eyes when he comes out of the bathroom, but Bucky acts like nothing even happened.

“Have you seen this one?” He asks, mouth full of eggs. There’s a plate on the counter for Steve. Steve glances at the TV, where Leslie is fighting for the rights of gay penguins, and nods.

“Uh huh,” he says, turning to grab his breakfast.

He keeps stealing looks at Bucky, trying to gauge if Bucky’s weirded out or judging him. Bucky laughs at the TV, and Steve wrinkles his nose at the spray of toast crumbs from his full and open mouth. Gross.

The eggs are still warm. Steve relaxes, bit by bit, because of how normal everything is. This is how they always spend their Saturday mornings. After they finish breakfast, they’ll head to Thor’s for a workout, and then they’ll come home and Steve will read to Bucky and they’ll get into an argument over Bucky going to the reading lab to use the computers there to read to him, and Steve will reiterate for the hundredth time that he doesn’t mind reading to Bucky but Bucky has resources he can use and Bucky will look away and refuse to admit that he doesn’t want to use those resources because it makes him self-conscious, and they won’t come to any conclusion and then they’ll invite their friends over to play Wii boxing and Steve will have to use his inhaler at least once from the combination of laughing and punching.

It’s fine. Bucky doesn’t hate him. Later that night, after everything he predicted happens just the way he thought it would, they’re brushing their teeth and Steve asks tentatively,

“Do you want me to sleep in the other room tonight?”

Bucky gives him a puzzled look, toothpaste making him foam at the mouth.

“Why?” He asks, leaving splotches on the mirror that he wipes away immediately.

“Well, because…” Steve shrugs, red-faced.

Bucky just raises an eyebrow. “Can’t think of a reason for it,” he says easily. “’Less you want to sleep in there.”

Steve watches him spit and rinse his mouth, then internally counts to three and waits for it—yep, he smiles at himself in the mirror. He always does after he brushes his teeth, like he’s testing his smile with his clean teeth. It makes Steve feel warm and fond, seeing Bucky’s routine like that, so he shakes his head and elbows Bucky out of the way so he can rinse.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll stay put.”

Bucky, still smiling, catches his eye in the mirror and his smile grows a little. “Alright then.”

“Alright then,” Steve echoes, and they get back to their regular routine.

  
“So, you got another appointment with Stark, huh?” Steve asks on Thursday, would-be casual like he didn’t dutifully mark the day down on his phone calendar. Bucky narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, but considering he skipped his workout specifically to ask Steve about his chest x-ray after his hospital visit, he can’t really talk.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “Are—” He cuts himself off. “I mean, if—” He breathes out through his nose. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna need more than that,” he points out. Bucky makes a face.

“I’m leaving now,” he says. Then he stands there without moving. Steve wants to ask if he can come. But he doesn’t want to crowd Bucky; he forced his way in last time, and he’s not sure Bucky wanted him to see that.

“I’ll walk you to the train,” Steve offers.

“Oh,” Bucky says, and then he clamps his mouth shut. Steve hesitates for a second, but he presses on as bravely as he can. Bucky didn’t say no. Steve laces up his shoes and says brightly,

“Let’s go.”

They walk to the train silently, their hands brushing every once in a while. Steve keeps opening his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he ends up saying nothing. When they get to the station, he pulls up a smile for Bucky.

“Have a good…” His throat closes up a little. He just keeps picturing Bucky in Stark’s lab, eyes clamped shut and jaw clenched.

“Maybe you could ride the train with me?” Bucky suggests cautiously.

“Yes,” Steve agrees quickly. “Absolutely.”

Bucky’s edgier than usual on the train, eyes darting around the car constantly and not settling for a second. Steve’s stomach clenches as he thinks about Bucky doing this every month, alone and anxious and uncomfortable.

Steve taps on Bucky’s thigh to get him to look at him.

“Jamie’s party is Sunday, right?”

Bucky blinks a few times before he actually focuses on Steve. “Yeah,” he says. “Dinner.”

“And cake?”

The side of Bucky’s mouth lifts up slightly. “Yeah, cake. You think Jamie would accept no cake?”

Steve laughs. “I don’t think _you’d_ accept no cake.”

Now Bucky manages a smile for real. He elbows Steve gently. “Shut it.”

They get to the back entrance of Stark Tower and Steve bites his lip. “What if I walked you in?” He asks.

Bucky looks rueful. “Sorry I’m such a wimp you have to come with me,” he mumbles.

“You’re not a wimp!” Steve insists. “Was I a wimp when I wanted you to stay with me in the hospital?”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, sounding annoyed. Steve raises his eyebrows and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let’s go. Stark gets extra sassy when I’m late.”

“Oh, good, the guard dog’s here again,” Stark says when he sees Steve. Steve narrows his eyes a little, but he doesn’t feel all that bothered by the idea that he’s guarding Bucky. “How’s the arm? Staying cool? In temperature, obviously, since we all know it _looks_ cool.”

Bucky looks exasperated immediately. “It’s not overheating as much.”

“Still running a little hot, though?” Stark asks, and there’s far less levity in his voice this time. Bucky nods.

“I haven’t been able to sleep with a shirt on,” he admits. “It gets really hot at night.” He tips his head a little. “And during the day sometimes.”

Stark raises one eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is it’s still getting really hot.”

“Well, yeah.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Not as bad though.”

“Your attempts to protect my ego are admirable,” Stark notes. “But let’s focus on the problem here. Do you get agitated at night?”

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Agitated?”

Stark gives him a shrewd look. “Nightmares, kid.”

Bucky bites his lip and looks away. He shrugs but doesn’t say anything. Stark nods a little. “Mmhm. Bruce here has a theory.”

Dr. Banner nods. “The arm’s tied to your brain, so when you get overwhelmed with emotional responses it makes your arm overheat. What upsets you during the day?”

Bucky just shrugs again, and Stark looks a little impatient. He turns to Steve. “Alright, hubby, what upsets him during the day?”

Steve purses his lips. It’s not his place to talk about Bucky’s issues if Bucky doesn’t want to. But on the other hand, shouldn’t Stark know? He probably needs that information to best help Bucky. Steve glances at Bucky and takes in his tense posture. Steve shrugs at Stark. Stark opens his mouth, annoyed now, but Bucky cuts him off.

“Everything,” he says gruffly. “People all around me. My classes. The train. Breaking my pencil. Sun in my eyes.”

“Do you have emotional outbursts?” Dr. Banner asks gently.

Bucky looks away. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Not really,” Steve argues. “Not outbursts. Not violent.” Bucky’s eyes flash.

“Yes.”

“No,” Steve presses. “You’ve never hurt anyone.”

“That isn’t true,” Bucky mutters.

“Bucky—” Steve starts.

“Why don’t you ask Sam if I hurt him?” Bucky hisses. Steve reels a little. He knew, sort of, that something happened between Sam and Bucky, but hearing Bucky just spit it out like that throws him for a loop. Bucky turns away, running his hand through his hair, breathing hard.

“James?” Dr. Banner breaks in softly. “Is your arm overheating now?”

Bucky shrugs jerkily. “Don’t know.”

“Can we check?” Dr. Banner asks. Bucky blows out a breath and holds his arm out to Stark and Banner. Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Bucky’s jaw clench tight while they wave a wand around him.

“The temperature of the arm itself is 102.4,” Jarvis’s voice tells them. “And it is currently raising Mr. Barnes’s core body temperature to 101.9.”

“Was it that hot when he first walked in?” Stark asks.

“I did not scan before, sir,” Jarvis says. “Mr. Barnes did not give his permission.”

“We’ll scan when he first gets here next time,” Stark says.

“With your permission,” Dr. Banner adds.

“Right,” Stark says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter to him. Steve stares at him a little, assessing. He’s always thought Stark was an asshole, with his public persona and the way he throws his money around on buildings and cars, and Stark seems to do his best to _act_ like an asshole. But he’s giving Bucky and other vets prototype prosthetics, and someone had to program his computer robot guy not to scan Bucky without his permission.

“Can we get started?” Bucky asks, antsy. “I just want…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but it’s not hard to guess what he wants: he wants to hurry up and get it over with.

“Sure, you got a hot date after this with not-me over there, I get it,” Stark says. “I’ve moved on to Bruce anyway.”

Dr. Banner rolls his eyes. “Heaven help me.” He leaves the lab for the exam, saying he has some research to get back to upstairs. Steve thinks maybe he wants to give Bucky some space.

Bucky moves over to the stool waiting for him. He doesn’t turn around, but he holds his hand out behind him and Steve rushes forward to take it.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers.

“Anytime,” Steve murmurs back. “Always, Buck.”

Steve babbles his way through another high school story—this time the story of some dating mishaps—and Bucky holds his hand tight while Stark pokes around in his arm again. Jarvis plays soothing classical music, but Bucky still doesn’t seem very relaxed.

“Okay,” Stark says briskly, finally putting the tools down. “Done.”

It takes Bucky longer to come back this time, to be able to focus and talk again, and Steve’s glad Stark waits the whole time it takes for Bucky to be coherent before talking it over.

“You’re burning through the coolant I put in there,” he says grimly. “That’s not great.”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Stark rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, _you_ apologize for my tech not working right,” he says.

“Sir,” Jarvis cuts in. “Ms. Potts would like to know if she can come in.”

Stark looks at Bucky and raises his eyebrows. “You up for Pepper?”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, and the doors open a few moments later. Steve has about a second to take in the woman who must be Pepper, with strawberry blonde hair pulled up away from her face and a smart suit, before he notices who comes in with Pepper.

“Natasha?” He asks.

“Hi, guys,” she says, and she almost looks sheepish.

“Oh, you know Natasha?” Pepper asks. “Natasha, I didn’t know you knew James.”

“I’ve known Steve for a year or two,” Natasha says. “I met James when they got married.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Pepper says to Bucky, and she seems genuine. “I need Tony’s signature on some paperwork and it can’t wait, unfortunately.” She fixes Stark with a stink-eye. “Because it’s _been_ waiting for two weeks and today is the last day.”

Stark sighs loudly. “I’m busy helping people, dear, changing lives, and you want me to worry about paperwork.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. It seems to be the main reaction of people dealing with him. Steve’s still staring at Natasha and she gives him a crooked, rueful little smile.

“I’m Pepper’s assistant,” she says.

“I thought you worked in the tech department,” Steve tells her accusingly.

“She did, until I found her there,” Pepper says. “And Natasha, it’s okay. The lab is secure. We tell people she’s my assistant, but she’s actually my bodyguard.”

Steve blinks a few times. “Bodyguard?”

“I was getting some death threats,” Pepper says casually. Stark’s jaw tightens a bit. “I was walking through the tech department and saw Natasha threatening someone.”

Natasha laughs a little. “Well, I was only telling him exactly what would happen if he kept touching me.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks. He can’t quite keep the hurt out of his voice, even though he knows it’s kind of ridiculous. Natasha doesn’t have to tell him anything.

“Steve, I couldn’t,” she says, and the way she tilts her head is sympathetic, which just makes Steve feel more ridiculous. He feels like he’s being a big baby. “We don’t want the people to be more on guard.”

“You thought I’d tell someone?” Steve definitely sounds wounded this time. Natasha’s shaking her head before he finishes the question.

“We’re being watched,” she says. “I didn’t want to be overheard. I can’t risk the chance that my phone is being bugged.”

Now Steve feels alarmed. “Are you safe?”

Natasha’s answering smirk is wry. “I’m not concerned.”

“Natasha’s teaching me some self-defense,” Pepper says.

“I’m a little surprised by how ferocious you are, actually,” Natasha says with a laugh. “I expected you to be a bit more uptight about it all.”

“It’s really violent,” Pepper admits. “But it feels really good.” Stark opens his mouth, a little smirk on his face, and she adds, “Tony, no.” He snaps his mouth closed obediently and pouts for a second.

“Happy’s finally gotten over you kicking his ass,” he says.

Natasha shrugs blithely. “He shouldn’t have underestimated me.” She turns to Bucky, who’s been completely silent through the whole exchange. “Is Stark taking care of you?”

Bucky nods. He doesn’t seem to want to meet Natasha’s eyes. Steve squeezes his hand a little, thinking he might just need some extra reassurance. Bucky’s brow furrows a little and he pulls his hand away. Steve gives him a look, but he dodges Steve’s eyes, too.

“No, no, no,” Stark is saying, holding both hands up. “Don’t hand me the clip board.”

“Tony,” Pepper says sternly. “Just hold the clipboard and sign the paper.”

Stark sighs loudly and does as she asked, shaking his head the whole time. Pepper shakes her head a little too, at him, but she’s smiling a little. “Thank you,” she says regally, then kisses him on the cheek. “How are you, James? And Steve, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself fully before.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Steve says after a beat of silence where Bucky doesn’t answer her. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Pepper echoes. “Tony, where do you find these polite boys and why don’t their manners rub off on you? James is always very polite, too.”

Bucky isn’t really being all that polite at the moment. Maybe he’s more upset from the work on his arm than Steve realized.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair,” Pepper says. “I’ve got some work to do now that Tony has finally signed the papers authorizing a new charity.”

“Is that what that was?” Stark mutters. Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve, eyes cutting to Bucky. Steve shrugs. Natasha twiddles her fingers in a little wave goodbye and follows Pepper out.

“Okay, more talking or are you done?” Stark asks.

“What more talking is there?” Bucky asks.

“I think we should go over some details about the surgery.”

“Nope,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

Stark purses his lips. “We need to do that eventually, you know. There will be forms to sign and details to cement.”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “But not today.”

“Maybe we could do that on a day where you don’t also work on his arm,” Steve suggests. Then he winces a little, because he’s not sure Bucky wants him butting in like that. Bucky doesn’t protest, though, so Stark just shrugs.

“Fine,” he says. “Two weeks again. Looks like I’m going to have to replace your coolant every two weeks until the surgery. Or until your therapist teaches you to calm down. Have you talked to Bruce about breathing or whatever? You know he’s got his issues.”

“Bye, Stark,” Bucky says firmly. “Thanks.”

Stark holds his hands up at Steve, and Steve shrugs at him. Nothing he can do about it, especially not at the moment. He follows Bucky out, and he can tell Bucky’s already tense and upset, so he doesn’t bombard him with the questions he wants to ask. Yet. He can wait.

  
Jamie’s birthday is a good time; George and Winifred make a big dinner for everyone, and Becca brings a chocolate cake with Oreos crumbled into “dirt” and a dump truck on top. Jamie stares open-mouthed at it for a full five minutes before Becca can convince him the dirt isn’t actual dirt and she does, in fact, want him to eat it.

“Oh, Steve,” Becca calls as she stops Jamie from digging into the cake with his hands now that he knows it’s food. “There’s no dairy in it.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to get used to the way Bucky’s family caters to him. It’s Jamie’s birthday; his preferences should be number one. Although, Steve reflects as watches Jamie dive face-first into his piece of cake, foregoing his fork entirely, Jamie doesn’t seem to be complaining.

“Daddy!” Jamie says excitedly. “Cookie dirt!”

Mark, beside Steve, laughs. “Yeah, bud,” he says. “But only this dirt, okay? Not all dirt.”

“Cooke dirt,” Jamie reiterates very seriously. “Steve eat cookie dirt?”

“I got some,” Steve says, showing Jamie his plate. Jamie nods.

“Ella cookie dirt?” He asks.

“You’re gonna share with Ella?” Bucky asks. Jamie nods graciously.

“Cake.”

“Good sharing,” Winifred praises him, handing a piece over to Mark, who has Ella on his lap. She gurgles and immediately puts her fist into the cake. Jamie laughs loudly.

“Fork, Ella!” He says, very hypocritically. He has chocolate all over his face and hands, and Becca's given up trying to keep him clean.

“That is a happy birthday boy,” George declares with a smile, snapping a picture.

Jamie doesn’t quite understand opening presents at first; he doesn’t really get why they want him to rip the paper, but he grasps the concept pretty quickly. The problem is, he opens a present and wants to immediately play with it, so he doesn’t move on to the other presents.

“Here, Jamie,” Beth says. “Open this one!” He ignores her, making his truck noises louder while he drives the monster truck he just opened over Ella’s toes.

“So I didn’t need to spend twenty bucks on a present?” Bailey says. Bucky snorts.

Steve’s gathering up dishes in the kitchen when Bailey finds him.

“Hey, Steve?” She asks, sounding hesitant. He turns around to give her his full attention. Since that night at the party, he’s been kind of worried about her, and he knows Bucky is, too.

“What’s up?” He asks.

“Um…” She shifts her weight to her other foot the same way Bucky does when he’s anxious. “Would it be okay—I mean, would you mind if I showed some of your art to my drawing professor?”

“You’re taking a drawing class?” Steve had had no idea. She blushes a little.

“I know it seems dumb to you,” she says quickly. “I’m just taking an intro class. You’re a real artist.”

“I didn’t wake up one day knowing how to draw,” he points out. “It takes practice. It’s not dumb at all. That’s cool, Bailey!”

She shrugs, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. “Well, um, we’re supposed to bring in some modern art we admire. But I wanted to make sure you don’t mind me showing your drawings first.”

That’s a lot for Steve to take in. She admires him? Or his art, at least, which is better, in a way. “Yeah,” he says, a little stunned. “Of course. Thank you. Do you want me to make up a portfolio or something?”

She waves a hand. “I’ll just use the drawings you put in Bucky’s lunch, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, I don’t have them anymore,” he says apologetically. “I mean, I gave them to him.”

She gives him a strange look. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “So I’ll just get them from him.”

Bucky keeps the drawings, Steve realizes. She’ll get the drawings from him because he still has them. Steve’s face floods immediately with a blush. _Bucky keeps the drawings._ Bucky keeps Steve's silly little doodles about a fake superhero.

“Sure,” he manages to say. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Anything else she was going to say is drowned out by Jamie running through the kitchen, naked and with his underwear on his head, singing, “Happy bird day me! Happy bird day me!” at the top of his lungs.

Bucky comes running in behind him, laughing, “Get back here and put your clothes back on, you little nut!”

Winifred is following with her camera, capturing the whole thing, and a quick glance at the living room shows Becca and Mark shrugging, not worried in the least.

Later, when they get home, Steve’s hit by another wave of sadness as he realizes he’s going to lose that, too. No more big family dinners. He won’t be there for Jamie’s third birthday. He won’t be there for Bailey’s twenty-first birthday or George and Winifred’s thirtieth wedding anniversary or Beth’s graduation. He’ll probably never hear Ella talk.

“What’s with the face?” Bucky asks. “Did Becca lie and the cake really had dairy in it?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

Bucky squints at him for a second. “You miss your mom?” He asks cautiously.

“Well, yeah,” Steve admits. “I always miss her, kinda. Just like…” He shrugs. “Underneath everything else, I miss her. But really. I’m fine.” He can tell Bucky isn’t really satisfied, so he adds, “You save the drawings I put in your lunch?”

Bucky’s ears go a little red, but he shrugs. “Course I do. My best friend drew ‘em, you know.”

Steve is left speechless for a minute. “I’m your best friend?” He asks, almost breathless. He has never, in his entire life, heard anyone call him their best friend. Now Bucky’s giving him a puzzled little look.

“Well, sure,” he says. Then he looks uncomfortable. “I mean, I know you got Sam and Natasha and I’m not trying—”

“You’re my best friend, too,” Steve cuts him off. “Definitely.”

Bucky ducks his head a little and smiles, and Steve’s chest feels like there’s a balloon in it, blowing up and rising higher and higher. “Cool,” Bucky murmurs. They’re both a little awkward for a second, and Steve berates himself for getting so emotional about it. It’s just…no one’s admitted that. None of the kids he’d gone to school with would have been caught dead calling Steve Rogers their best friend.

“Anyway,” Bucky says. “When you’re famous I can sell ‘em on the internet for a million dollars.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “Yeah, sure,” he says sarcastically.

Bucky nods. “You’re right,” he says. “I’d never sell.”

  
It’s early October by the time Steve has his great idea. He’d gone to George’s store one afternoon, because George’s been asking him to paint a display in the window for Halloween, so he’d done it and made sure to feature furniture in with the pumpkins and ghosts as much as possible.

“Steve, this is amazing,” George tells him. “I can’t believe you did all this in an hour. How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Steve says. George gives him a look.

“No, no, no,” he says. “This is a real talent, Steve—I never could’ve done this. You can’t just go around doing this for free at a business. This is your trade!”

“Yeah, but you’re…” Steve shrugs. “My father-in-law,” he says, a little jokingly. George, though, just nods seriously.

“That’s true,” he says. “But still. This was a business arrangement, not a family one, so I need to pay you.”

“You’re already paying me more than you should,” Steve points out quietly. “Just for…you know.”

George looks at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed a little in thought. “You think we’re paying you too much for the arrangement?” He finally asks.

Steve looks away, uncomfortable. “Well, I guess I just feel like…I mean, I’m not really doing anything for you. I’m getting all the benefit here.”

“Are you?” George asks, sounding surprised.

“Sure,” Steve goes on, amazed George can’t see it. “The apartment, for one thing. And all that furniture’s from your store, isn’t it? And you guys are just so…so _nice_ to me all the time. And I don’t need money to hang out with Bucky.”

George is staring at him again when he finishes, and he can feel himself going red. He probably just talked himself out of the only real, steady money he’s ever had. But it doesn’t feel right, them paying him and doing everything else for him, too.

“Steve,” George says gently. “I haven’t seen James this happy and comfortable since before he joined the Army.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. Part of him feels incredibly sad at this news, because Bucky doesn’t really seem all that happy or comfortable sometimes, so it stings a bit to think this is the happiest he's been. But most of him feels incredulous. Does George think Steve’s got anything to do with that? As if he can hear Steve’s thoughts, George adds,

“And yes, that’s at least partially thanks to you. I would say it’s mostly because of you, honestly. You help James so much. So no, I don’t think we’re paying you too much.”

Steve leaves a little later, completely dazed. He helps Bucky? Sure, he’s there to hold Bucky’s hand at Stark’s now, and when Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night it seems to help him get back to sleep when Steve rubs his back, and yeah, he’s been helping Bucky with getting through his reading for his classes, but it’s not like any of that is all that important. The nightmare thing, maybe. And okay, being there for him at Stark’s is probably kind of a big deal.

Steve can’t believe it. He does help Bucky. All this time, he felt like Bucky did way more for him than he did for Bucky. But he actually _has_ been helping Bucky.

And that’s when Steve’s struck by the idea. The Idea, as he thinks of it in his mind, with capital letters for importance. Why get divorced at the end of the year? People always talk about tax benefits for being married, right? And he and Bucky are both getting something out of this, aren’t they?

So why couldn’t they just stay married? Everyone says to marry your best friend. And sure, this isn’t quite what they mean, but still. But someday Bucky will probably find someone he actually loves, romantically, and then what?

Steve told Bucky, way back at the beginning of all this, he didn’t care if Bucky found other people while they were married. He feels a little flash in his chest, though, that tells him that might not be quite true. He doesn’t want someone else to come along and steal Bucky away, not when Steve finally has a real best friend.

Still. They could stay married until then, couldn’t they? Maybe they’d get sick each other after a few years, anyway. If Bucky isn’t already sick of Steve, anyway.

Right at that moment, the idea seems amazing. Steve is beaming the whole way home, and an old woman on the train keeps looking at him.

“I’m going to stay married to my husband,” he tells her.

“Good for you,” she says approvingly. “Your generation takes marriage too lightly.”

He leaves out the circumstances of their marriage to keep her good will.

Bucky’s in the shower when Steve gets home, but he must’ve just gotten in because his phone is on the coffee table and the screen hasn’t automatically locked. Steve totally does not snoop. But his eyes might happen to take in the fact that Bucky’s phone is open to a texting conversation with Becca, who is “Moe” in Bucky’s phone. And Steve’s eyes might happen to see the texts in the conversation, and his brain might happen to comprehend the words. He can’t see what Becca asked, but he can see Bucky answered,

_No_

_Why not?_ Becca asked next.

_There’s someone else. He’s just waiting until the sham’s up. He’s a good guy._

Steve’s heart thuds its way to a figurative stop. Oh. Bucky already has someone. He doesn’t want Steve to feel bad, so he’s waiting until their year is up, and then he’s going to go off and be happy.

There’s nothing else in the conversation; Becca had nothing to say about this revelation. She probably already knows, anyway. Steve wonders who the guy could be. Someone from Bucky’s classes? It would have to be; if it was anyone Bucky knew before he met Steve, surely he could’ve fake-married them instead of Steve.

By the time Bucky gets out of the shower, whistling, Steve has overthought his way into a nasty mood. Why is Bucky even bothering to wait the year? Steve told him he didn’t care. Why doesn’t Bucky just go off with this good guy?

Maybe he already is. Maybe that’s where Bucky disappears to all the time. That’s the real reason he’s happy now, not Steve.

“Hey,” Bucky greets him.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, and he can tell his voice is weird. He doesn’t want Bucky’s pity. If Bucky wants to be with someone else, Steve’s not going to hold him back. “How was class?”

Bucky shrugs. “Got a bio test next week so today we were mostly just doing a review. It was good, though, because I had a bunch of stuff written down wrong.”

“Good,” Steve answers robotically.

“You want to order out tonight?” Bucky asks. “Or I could make that honey mustard chicken you liked last time.”

“Either way,” Steve says, staring at the TV. He has no idea what he’s even watching.

“You alright?” Bucky asks, that furrow between his eyebrows.

“I’m fine.” After a minute, Steve says casually, “So, is there anyone in your classes you like?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, pulling chicken out of the freezer. “You met those kids from my English class, and they’re actually not so bad when they’re sober. And there’s a guy in my bio class I study with sometimes who’s pretty cool. He’s like forty and has a wife and four kids. I think it’s neat he went back to school, you know?”

“I mean anyone you _like_ ,” Steve explains. “You know, like you want to date them.”

Steve can see Bucky’s reflection in the TV screen. He stops for a second, back to Steve and the living room. “Oh,” Bucky says. “Um, no.”

It’s a lie. Steve can hear that it’s a lie, and he’s suddenly angry. Why would Bucky lie to him? He called Steve his best friend two weeks ago, and now he’s lying?

“Really?” Steve asks. “No one cute in your classes?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. “They’re all pretty young.”

“They can’t _all_ be eighteen,” Steve argues. “There must be someone.”

“No, not really, Steve,” Bucky says, and he’s starting to sound annoyed. Good. Steve’s annoyed, too.

“You expect me to believe you don’t see even _one_ attractive person ever?” Steve asks, turning around now so he can give Bucky (Bucky’s back, anyway, because Bucky isn’t facing him) a skeptical look.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Bucky says, voice tight, as he starts arranging chicken in a pan.

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Steve tries to sound teasing. “Who can you tell about cute boys if not your husband?”

Bucky’s shoulders are tensing up, and part of Steve’s brain is telling him to shut up, quit being an asshole, drop it.

“Steve,” Bucky warns.

“Why won’t you just tell me?” Steve presses, not even keeping his irritation out of his voice now. “What’s the big deal?”

“I said I don’t want—”

“What’s the big fucking deal?” Steve repeats, voice dripping venom now. That rational part of him is screaming. Why is he being like this? He doesn’t know why he’s so mad.

Bucky slams the pan down on the stovetop and Steve jumps at the sound. A chicken breast flies out and lands on the ground. Bucky whirls around and Steve can see how mad he is.

“What the fuck?” He spits. “What’s wrong with you? I said I didn’t want to talk about it, okay? But oh, no, Steve Rogers talks about what he wants to talk about, and fuck anyone else who doesn’t want to talk about it. So you just keep pushing and pushing, huh? I said no, I don’t want to talk about it, and I’m not gonna talk about it.”

Steve puffs up, mostly because he knows he’s wrong and he hates that feeling. “Why not? Why are you acting like this? You’re acting so crazy.”

Bucky flinches. Steve’s heart drops down to the floor. He can’t believe he just said that. To Bucky, of all people. He feels sick.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says hollowly. “Fuck you, too.” He stalks out of the kitchen and slams his bedroom door behind him.

Steve sits there in the living room, the laugh track of whatever show he put on mocking him, and after a few minutes he gets up and turns off the TV. The chicken breast is still sitting morosely on the floor, and he throws it in the sink before he walks to his own room.

  
Steve’s lying awake, staring at the ceiling. He can’t sleep. He can’t stop running the whole thing through his mind over and over. He wanted a fight. He wanted to make Bucky mad, because he was mad. But he had no right to be mad. And he called Bucky crazy.

He rolls over, eyes stinging with guilty tears. Of all the things he could’ve called Bucky, he had to pick the one that would hurt him the most. There’s a lead weight in his stomach. He knows how worried Bucky is about seeming normal. Bucky _trusted_ him. And Steve called him crazy. He can’t imagine how that must have felt.

It’s 2 am when he hears it—Bucky’s just on the other side of the wall, and Steve can hear him thrashing around. He tenses, wondering if he should go in there. But Bucky probably doesn’t want him in there. Steve certainly doesn’t deserve Bucky keeping him warm. He deserves this strange bed that feels weird, with scratchy sheets and cold feet.

But then he hears Bucky whimpering, and he’s out of his bed before he even consciously decides to get up. Bucky can hate him, fine, but Steve’s not going to let him be stuck in a nightmare. He eases the door open.

“Bucky,” he says, standing in the doorway and not going any closer. “Wake up, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes snap open, his chest heaving. He looks at Steve for a second, wide-eyed and gasping, and then he shudders.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky rolls over, away from Steve, and Steve knows he deserves that but it still makes his stomach hurt a little.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quickly. “And you’re not crazy. Okay? Please, Buck, you gotta know that. You can hate me, but don’t worry about that.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Steve hangs his head. He’s about to turn away when Bucky finally says, “I don’t hate you, Steve.” He sounds so tired, and Steve feels bad all over again.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

Bucky huffs. “You really were. And not in the good way like usual.”

“I was in a weird mood,” Steve says, which isn’t entirely true. But he can’t tell Bucky he read his texts with Becca. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky says. He lifts up a corner of the blanket. “You getting in here or what?”

Steve doesn’t bother asking if he’s sure; he’s done enough damage for one night. He just hurries into bed. Bucky burrows his way against Steve’s chest and murmurs,

“But I get to be the little spoon tonight.”

Steve laughs a little as he settles his arm around Bucky’s waist. “Okay,” he whispers, feeling Bucky’s breathing starting to even out. “Whatever you want, Buck.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically every chapter from here to the end, until the epilogue, is going to be an emotional whump. Oops.

Bucky doesn’t act like he’s still upset with Steve, but Steve can’t help the pit in his stomach every time he thinks about what he said. He wants to make it up to Bucky, but Bucky keeps brushing off his apologies.

“I get it,” Bucky says. “You’re sorry. Drop it.”

“I can’t just drop it,” Steve answers, annoyed. “It was so far out of line the line’s not even there anymore.”

“You’re worried you hurt my feelings, yeah?” Bucky asks. “So don’t you think bringing it up over and over will keep on hurting my feelings?”

Steve doesn’t have a counterargument to that. Still, he wants to make it up to Bucky. He just doesn’t know how, so he’s stuck doing things like making dinner before Bucky gets home and actually doing laundry.

Bucky’s overzealous, in Steve’s opinion, about the cleanliness of his clothes, but Steve might also be biased from going his entire life having to scrounge up quarters to do laundry and assessing everything “clean enough” for as long as possible. It’s something they haven’t exactly _argued_ about, but they’ve certainly disagreed, so Steve figures it might help.

“You’re doing laundry?” Bucky asks one afternoon when he comes home and catches Steve actually folding socks the way Bucky likes, not just wadding them up into a ball. Steve knows he looks guilty, and Bucky puts on a solemn face. “You know, Steve, I feel real bad about what you said. I think you better make it up to me for a long time.”

Steve wads up the socks and throws them at Bucky’s head.

Still, when Steve sees Bucky’s lunch abandoned on the counter, he doesn’t immediately rush off to take it to him. He’s not some 1950s TV housewife, sitting around twiddling his thumbs and jumping at the opportunity to meet Bucky’s every need.

On the other hand, he knows Bucky won’t go get something on campus. He’d have to traverse an extra-heavily populated area of campus, he’d have to wait in line, and he’d have to give his order. After a morning of classes, Bucky can sometimes barely manage to talk to Steve until he’s been home for at least an hour. There’s no way he’s going to order food. He’ll just go hungry.

That nags at Steve all morning. He knows being hungry is bad for Bucky. Not only does he need to be at the top of his game just to get through a day, it reminds him of being back on that table. He won’t be able to focus on his classes with the gnaw of hunger in his stomach.

And besides, if it were any other friend, Steve wouldn’t hesitate to take lunch to them. He _has_ taken lunch to Sam before. He has the time; he’s not sick. So Steve finds himself waiting outside Bucky’s English class, leaning against a wall across from the door.

He hears the rumble inside the room that means everyone’s packing up and leaving. Steve’s not sure, but he’s willing to bet Bucky will be either the first or last person left in the room. He won’t want to deal with people crowding him to get out the door.

Sure enough, people come streaming out of the classroom, but Bucky’s nowhere to be seen. Steve’s fine with waiting, but then he sees a familiar face—the guy from the party. What’s his name? Steve can’t remember. Greg? The two girls are with him, too.

“Hey, you’re Bucky’s husband, right?” The guy asks. “We met at my party. I’m Chad.”

“Right, Chad,” Steve says, trying to play it off like he totally knew it. And the girls’ names rush back to him now that Chad’s jogged his memory. “Lacy and Anita, right?”

“Wow, good memory,” Lacy praises. Steve already feels tired with this conversation. Chad glances back over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bucky,” he calls.

“No, don’t rush him, it’s—” Steve starts to say.

“Your husband’s out here waiting!”

Steve suddenly feels incredibly foolish. He could have waited outside on a bench or something and texted Bucky. He didn’t have to stand outside the classroom door like a puppy.  
Bucky comes out the door, eyebrows furrowed. “Steve? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Steve reassures him quickly. He holds up the brown paper bag. “You forgot your lunch,” he says, almost sheepishly.

“Oh my God,” Lacy moans. “That is _so adorable_.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and his face goes red. Steve realizes Bucky probably didn’t need his classmates to get a reminder of his faulty memory. But this is a normal thing to forget, Steve thinks. Bucky’s a little extra sensitive, but the other students won’t think anything of it. “Thanks,” Bucky adds, and then he smiles and kisses Steve on the cheek.

Steve sees Anita roll her eyes and he can’t help but feel a little smug. He’s not usually the one getting the attention in situations like these, and she can glare all she wants, but Bucky’s never going to be interested in her. It’s mean and a little spiteful, but Steve figures it’s alright as long as he doesn’t voice these opinions.

Bucky takes the bag from Steve and immediately peers inside. He frowns at Steve. “Where’s my comic?” He asks.

Steve laughs a little. “Wait, seriously?” He asks after Bucky just raises his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Bucky insists. “I’m still waiting for Cap to sock Adolph on the jaw.”

Steve laughs a little, ducking his head shyly. It still gets him that Bucky actually cares about his silly little comic. “It’s on the napkin.”

“You draw him a comic every day?” Lacy asks, and she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. “That is honestly the _cutest_ thing ever.”

“You guys are like, relationship goals,” Chad agrees. “But, you know. With a chick.”

“Um, thanks,” Steve says awkwardly. He slips his arm around Bucky’s waist, since that seems like the kind of thing he should do in this situation. “We’re really happy.” He doesn’t know how couples respond to these things.

Bucky huffs a little laugh into Steve’s hair. “So happy,” he echoes, too straight-faced to be anything but mocking, and Steve elbows him.

“I have to get to my next class,” Anita says. “Bucky, I’ll email you those notes, okay?”

“Thanks,” Bucky says absently, flicking at Steve’s ear. Steve gives her a smile as she walks away and then scolds himself for being so mean to an eighteen-year-old with a crush. That’s not fair.

“Yeah, we gotta run too,” Chad says. “Nice to see you again, Steve.”

“Bye,” Lacy says.

Steve and Bucky leave the building. Bucky still has his arm around Steve’s shoulders, a comfortable weight. “You gonna stay and eat lunch with me?” Bucky asks, grinning, and Steve can’t help but smile back. It’s impossible not to smile at Bucky’s smile. Steve remembers Winifred telling him about Bucky using his smile to stay out of trouble. He completely believes it.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve says. “I mean, I just ate breakfast like two hours ago.”

“You don’t have to.” Bucky shrugs, and then he pulls his arm away. Steve wants to worm his way back under Bucky’s arm. Bucky probably thinks Steve doesn’t want to stay.

“I can stay,” Steve says. “Not like I’ve got anywhere to be.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks, not smiling anymore. “I mean, I usually meet up with Bay before her next class, so you don’t have to babysit me.”

Steve sighs a little, heart stinging. This is his fault. It’s his fault Bucky thinks Steve would only stay to babysit him. He’s the one who ruined the easy friendship they had going. But he doesn’t know how to say _I’d wait around for scraps of your attention_ without sounding as desperate as…well, as he is.

“Bucky,” he says firmly. “You’re my best friend.” And it’s still a bit of a marvel to say that, to not have to hide it in case Bucky didn’t feel it, too. Although he might not, anymore. Not after what Steve said. Steve presses forward. “I like hanging out with you, okay?”

The side of Bucky’s mouth lifts up a little. “Okay,” he says quietly. “But we’re gonna have to deal with Bailey whining about her trig professor. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Steve rolls his eyes theatrically. “I guess I can endure that.”

Bucky laughs and leads the way to a bench in the square. They sit and Bucky pulls the napkin out of the bag, grinning as he reads it. He groans at the end. “Still no punch,” he grouses.

“But that has to be the end!” Steve points out. “I gotta fill in the middle still.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky mutters. He looks up at Steve through his lashes. “Um, but really, Steve. Thanks. For…bringing it to me.”

Steve shrugs, looking away. He feels a little uncomfortable. He realizes Bailey probably could’ve gotten something for Bucky. His decision to jump up and run to Bucky suddenly seems a little drastic. It’s that part of him that always wants to save the day and never really stops to plan things out.

“Steve!” Bailey cries when she sees him. Bucky puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders and Bailey smiles at them. “Hi!”

“Oh, hi,” Bucky says sarcastically. “Guess you don’t care that I’m here?”

Bailey shrugs. “I see you every day.” She turns excitedly to Steve. “Do you want to hear what my drawing professor said about your comic?”

Steve’s stomach clenches. It doesn’t matter, really. He’s not in school anymore. He doesn’t have to worry about whether some professor thinks he’s good enough or not. He doesn’t have to stare down at a portrait of his mother and see the words _trite and uninspired_ across her forehead.

Bucky leans his shoulder into Steve’s a little and Steve gulps. “Yeah,” he says, making his voice easy and light.

“He loved it,” Bailey gushes, pulling a slightly squished bagel out of her backpack. “He said your attention to detail in the movement was amazing.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and for some reason he almost feels worse. His silly comics he sketches for fun in mere minutes are getting a better response than the paintings he put his heart into for entire semesters. Bucky frowns a little and presses his ankle against Steve’s.

“And he said he’d love to meet you,” Bailey goes on, not as clued in to Steve’s discomfort as Bucky.

“Really?” Steve asks. “Why?”

Bailey shrugs. “I don’t know, ‘cause he likes your work? He’s great. He’s my favorite professor. He used to be a scientist, but he quit to teach art. Isn’t that _awesome_?”

Bucky shoves a cookie at Steve. It startles him a little, and Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve shrugs at him. He doesn’t know why he’s being weird about this. Well, that’s a lie. He _knows_. But he’s not going to talk about it.

“Anyway, I gotta go,” Bailey says. “I need to talk to my trig professor before class, _ugh_. I can’t stand him. He kinda creeps me out, but I’m totally lost in class.”

“Everyone kinda creeps you out,” Bucky remarks.

Bailey’s face twitches a little. “Not everyone,” she protests, looking over at some pigeons terrorizing a group of students. “Just creepy people.”

Bucky looks at her a little more closely. “What does he do that’s creepy?” He asks. His voice is different now, a tone Steve’s starting to recognize as his Big Brother voice. Not in the Orwell way, though.

Bailey shakes her head, still facing away. “I don’t know. It’s not like I can explain it. It’s just a vibe. I don’t think guys get it.” She stands up and brushes off her hands, shields her eyes from the sun. “See ya.”

“Wha—you say he’s creepy and then you’re gonna just go off and talk to him alone?” Bucky sputters.

“Buck,” Steve murmurs as Bailey puts her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. Bucky exhales through his nose.

“Okay, fine,” he says. “You’re not a kid. Whatever. Text me when you’re done so I know you’re okay.”

Bailey rolls her eyes, but there’s a fond little smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, alright,” she agrees. “Since you asked so nice.”

Now Bucky rolls his eyes right back, and she walks backward a few steps before waving and turning around. Bucky shakes his head.

“That kid,” he says, but he doesn’t go anywhere with the thought. He rubs at his temples a little, surreptitious almost like he’s just scratching an itch, but Steve catches the grimace that goes with it.

“Your head hurt?” He asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Little.”

“You don’t wear your glasses in class?”

Bucky shrugs again and doesn’t say anything. Steve bites his tongue. A week ago, he’d scold Bucky about it. But he’s not sure he gets to do that, not after what he said the other night.

“I should probably head home,” Steve says. “You got bio soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s across campus,” Bucky agrees. They’re still sitting close together, Bucky’s arm around Steve’s shoulders, and Bucky’s hand is rubbing absently at Steve’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me my lunch.”

“It’s a one-time deal,” Steve lies. Bucky smirks a little but doesn’t argue.

“Well, you ever forget your lunch, I’ll bring it to you so we’re even, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds fair,” Steve allows. He doesn’t really want to get up. They’ve still been cuddling up at night, but Bucky’s been more wary with his touches during the day, and Steve didn’t realize it until just now. He knows there’s no one to blame for that but himself, but he didn’t realize they touched each other so much until Bucky quit doing it.

“See ya at home,” Bucky says, pulling his arm away and standing up.

“I ain’t making dinner,” Steve warns. Bucky laughs.

“Now that’s good news,” he teases, and Steve elbows him lightly.

“Bye,” he says with a wave, walking off before Bucky does, and he starts to think up some more comics he can draw for Bucky.

  
Sam and Riley are hosting their annual Very Scary But No Jump Scares and Don’t Be _Too_ Scared Halloween party. Steve knows it’s going to be a blast, and the Commandos are coming this year—no party is dull with them around—but he has to think of a costume. Sam already warned him he’s not allowed to go as an artist, like he does every year.

“But you and Riley wear the same costume every year,” Steve argues. They go as Turk and J.D. every single year.

“Wearing your normal paint-stained clothes is _not_ a costume,” Sam reminds him, the same way he does every year. “You can’t go as things you already are.”

“Well then I hope you’re not going as a bossy smartass,” Steve mutters, and Sam just laughs in his ear before Steve hangs up on him.

_Halloween costumes????_ Steve texts Bucky.

_What about them?_ Bucky asks back.

_What should i be?_

_Follow your heart,_ Bucky says. Steve rolls his eyes.

_My heart wants to be an artist but Sam said no._

_You can’t dress up like what you are in real life_ , Bucky scolds. Steve glares at his phone and hopes Bucky gets the message.

He checks the time and taps a finger on his phone, considering. It’s evening in London. He hasn’t talked to Peggy in a few days, not even a text or an email. They didn’t set up a time to skype, but he calls her up anyway. Why not? They’re friends. They can talk without scheduling it.

“Steve!” Peggy says when she answers, smiling wide, and Steve’s stomach flutters a little. Not as much as it used to, and he’s kind of relieved he’s finally getting used to talking to Peggy. Being nervous every time was starting to get really old.

“I have an emergency,” Steve tells her, making his face faux-serious so she knows it’s not an actual emergency that she needs to worry over.

“Oh, do you?” She replies, adopting an equally grave tone. “I’ll help in any way I can; you know that.”

“I do know,” Steve agrees. “That’s why I’m bringing this problem to you. And I want real answers here, Carter, understood?” She raises an eyebrow and he knows he’s not going to get her to say _understood_ like he wants. “I need help picking a Halloween costume.”

She bursts out with a little laugh, then schools her expression again. “This is more serious than I thought,” she says, lips twitching. “Isn’t the party next week?”

Steve groans, giving up on pretending to be serious. “Yes, and Sam said I can’t be artist.”

“He says that every year,” Peggy points out. “You never listen.”

“He said he’s going to steal my artist clothes so I can’t wear them.”

“So go naked,” Peggy suggests. “Teach him a lesson.”

Steve feels his face starting to go a little pink. “That sounds remarkably like a Natasha suggestion,” he manages to say, and Peggy laughs again.

“Yes, I talked to her yesterday for almost an hour, so I’m still in that frame of mind.”

“That’s what you guys talk about?” Steve grins. “Me going naked?”

Peggy rolls her eyes at him. “Anyway, what ideas have you come up with so far?”

“Um…”

“Oh, no ideas, is that what’s happening?” She asks, arching one eyebrow. “You don’t actually need help picking, you need me to tell you what to do.”

“You’re so good at it,” Steve tries sheepishly. Peggy rolls her eyes again, but she’s smiling.

“You could go as an elf,” she suggests. Steve immediately scowls. “Or a hobbit! Oh, Steve, go as a hobbit, won’t you? It would be adorable.”

“I don’t want to go as a hobbit,” he pouts, even as he thinks about what he could wear for a hobbit costume. “My feet aren’t hairy.”

“No, but that’s an easy fix.”

“I guess Bucky could be Aragorn,” Steve muses.

“Oh, you’re coordinating your costumes?” Peggy asks. “You didn’t mention that.”

Steve shrugs. “We didn’t talk about it. But I know he doesn’t have any ideas. He’s definitely got the hair for Aragorn.”

“Were Aragorn and Frodo a couple?”

“It’s not a couple’s costume,” Steve says quickly. “Aragorn and Frodo were friends. We’re friends.”

There’s a beat of silence that makes Steve uncomfortable. Then Peggy shrugs and says, “Well, send me pictures. I want to see what you come up with for the hairy feet.”

“I haven’t agreed to go as a hobbit,” Steve points out half-heartedly. Peggy smiles, because she knows she’s won. It is a pretty good idea, actually. Certainly better than Clint’s suggestion of Tinker Bell.

So when Bucky gets home that afternoon, Steve has his art supplies spread across the table and his hands on his hips, trying to figure out how to put hair on his feet. Steve lunges on him.

“Do you want to be Aragorn?” He asks, mostly nonsensically.

Bucky blinks, brows drawing together in confusion. “Usually, yeah,” he says. “But what are you talking about?”

“Halloween,” Steve says impatiently. He knows he’s not making total sense, but that’s what happens when he gets in the zone. “I’m Frodo.”

Bucky pieces through that one while Steve examines a green jacket he could cut into a cloak. “I’ll be Aragorn and you’ll be Frodo?” Bucky checks.

“Your hair is the same,” Steve points out, picking up his scissors. Bucky sticks his hand on top of the coat to stop him.

“Why are you cutting that coat? I haven’t seen a thicker winter coat in your closet.”

“No, it’s the one I have,” Steve shrugs. “But I need a cloak.”

“Can we time out for a second?” Bucky asks. He makes a _c’mere_ motion with his free hand. “Can you focus? Can you come back to me here?”

“ _What_ ,” Steve says grumpily, and then he looks down at where he was going to cut up his best—only—winter coat and blinks. “Oh.”

“There we go.” Bucky tugs the scissors away from him. “Let’s put the scissors away.”

“I can’t believe you put your hand between the scissors and my coat,” Steve scolds him. “I could’ve cut you!”

“Steve, how much did you pay for those scissors?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. Ten bucks or something?”

“Yeah. You think they’re going to cut through my multi-million dollar Stark-made hand?” He rolls his eyes. “Focus, okay? Halloween costumes. We just gotta go to my parents’ house and look in the costume box.”

“The costume box?” Steve echoes. “What is that?”

Bucky huffs. “Use context clues.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I hate that English class you’re taking.”

Bucky laughs at him. But Steve has to admit, once they’ve picked through the costume box and found appropriate items, it’s quite useful.

He heads over to Sam’s early to help set up for the party. He’s already in his hobbit costume, and had obligingly sent Peggy several pictures. Bucky has a study group that goes right up to the time the party starts—because Riley’s parties start with dinner, always, and he doesn’t care if people tease him about being old and starting parties early—and he’ll have to come straight over from school.

Riley’s in the kitchen with all the food, and it’s the first real opening Steve’s had to ask Sam about Bucky’s comments at Stark’s lab.

“So, Sam,” Steve starts slowly.

Sam makes a face. “This is not going to be good.” When Steve doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh, he looks wary. “What’s going on?”

“I know something happened with you and Bucky.” Steve takes a deep breath. “Bucky told me to ask you. So I’m asking. Okay?” Bucky may not have really meant it, considering everything that was happening at the time, but still.

Sam keeps flipping through CDs for a minute, face tight. “Why didn’t he tell you himself?”

Steve sighs. “Because getting him to talk about anything concerning his therapy or his arm or his medications is like pulling teeth, probably?”

Sam looks at Steve for a long time, chewing his lip. “Alright,” he finally says quietly. “I’ll tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “Barnes was coming to the VA, but his therapist wasn’t a good fit. I could tell. Their personalities just didn’t go good together, you know? And I don’t know what was going on in their sessions, but Barnes would come out looking worse than he went in, and O’Dell would come out looking pretty bad, too, and he said Barnes got kinda nasty with what he said sometimes. So then O’Dell says he wants Barnes to come to my group session. Well, I didn’t think it was a great idea. I didn’t think Barnes was ready for that. He wasn’t doing so hot with crowds, and a room full of people looking at him and expecting him to say something didn’t seem like a great idea, and it was right after he got his arm and he was pretty self-conscious about it. But O’Dell’s the therapist, and that’s what he recommended, so I went with it. O’Dell came in with him, and he just kept talking right in his ear, and I could tell Barnes was getting kinda agitated, so I went over to try to help, but Barnes didn’t hear me coming since O’Dell was talking, so when I got there Barnes sort of…flipped out.”

Steve’s mouth is completely dry, and he has to swallow before he can ask, “Flipped out how?”

Sam looks away and shrugs. “He grabbed my arm.”

Steve sucks in a breath. “Your sprained wrist,” he remembers. Sam’s wrist had been swollen and bruised for weeks.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Sam says firmly. “I would’ve reacted the same way.”

“That’s why you were so worried about me living with him,” Steve realizes. “You thought he was going to hurt me.”

Sam sighs a little. “I was worried, yeah,” he admits. “But I’m not worried about it anymore, okay? I can see how much better he’s gotten since then.”

Steve’s head is reeling. On the one hand, he’s angry at Bucky. Hurting Sam is unacceptable. When Sam had first shown up with his wrist all wrapped up, Steve had ranted for almost an hour about how maybe the guy who did it shouldn’t be hanging around other people if he couldn’t handle them. And Sam had _defended_ Bucky.

But on the other hand…it’s Bucky. And Steve knows what Bucky went through. Steve’s seen the absolute terror in his eyes when he wakes up from a nightmare. Steve’s heard him cry in his sleep. Steve knows how Bucky feels about people sneaking up on him.

“I was worried he’d be worse, not better, by now,” Sam says. “He’s not seeing O’Dell anymore and he’s definitely not coming to group.”

“He’s not?” Steve asks. He doesn’t think Bucky has a different therapist. He doesn’t really know, though. He doesn’t really know anything about that part of Bucky’s life. Bucky won’t tell him anything.

Guests start to show up, people Steve knows and people he doesn’t. Natasha’s dressed up as Maid Marion and Clint is Robin Hood. Clint is Robin Hood every year—and no one scolds _him_ about going as something he already is, with the archery—but he’s never had a Maid Marion.

_On my way_ , Bucky texts him. He stares at the text for a long time and then puts his phone away without answering. He doesn’t know what to say.

Natasha notices Steve’s daze, of course. She frowns at him for a few minutes without him noticing, and then she frowns at him for a few more minutes after he’s noticed and is trying to ignore it, and then she walks over and frowns right next to him.

“What?” She asks simply.

“What?” Steve asks back. “You’re the one frowning at me.”

“You’re upset about something. Is it Barnes? Is he not coming tonight?’

“He’s on his way,” Steve says, but his throat feels tight. How is he going to react to Bucky? Like usual? Or is he going to be mad to see the guy who sprained Sam’s wrist?

“Steve.” Natasha touches his arm lightly. “What’s going on?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue, the whole story wanting to spill out, especially to Natasha, because she always has a way of framing things pragmatically that helps him think. But… “I can’t tell you,” Steve says. “It’s something I found out about Bucky.”

She watches him for a moment and he turns his attention to Clint, who is trying to convince Dugan, dressed as Hercules, to put an apple on his head and let him shoot it off with an arrow. Steve doubts it will take much longer to convince him, especially with Morita and Falsworth encouraging it. Morita, Falsworth, and Gabe are the Muses to Dugan’s Hercules, with Dernier as Hades. Steve realizes Bucky probably would’ve dressed up with him if Steve hadn’t made him go as Aragorn.

“Something you found out that makes you mad at him?” Natasha guesses.

“I don’t know,” Steve admits helplessly. “It should.”

That’s it, he realizes. That’s why he’s so confused right now. He feels _guilty_. He feels guilty that he’s not angrier at Bucky. Bucky hurt Sam, and Steve’s mad about it, but he’s not mad _enough_. Who else would get a pass after hurting Sam? No one. Steve’s mad at himself. He doesn’t think straight when it comes to Bucky.

Bucky comes in just then, not in costume yet because he took the train and that’s an unpleasant enough experience for him already without adding a costume. Sam shoots Steve a worried look from across the room, and Natasha presses her shoulder into Steve’s a little.

“Hey, where’d you find such a hideous mask?” Gabe yells.

“Scariest costume in the world,” Dernier agrees.

Bucky rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “You’re just jealous,” he says.

“Only reason we’d be jealous of you is ‘cause you got Cap,” Dugan teases. Bucky laughs and looks over at Steve, his smile taking up his face, but his forehead wrinkles a little when he takes in the look on Steve’s face.

“I’m going to put my costume on,” he says, gesturing toward the bathroom.

“What, do you need help or something?” Falsworth jokes.

“Nah, he’s just seeing if anybody wants to sneak a peek,” Morita adds. Steve’s whole body feels tense. Part of him wants to go over to Bucky—Bucky’s eyes are darting around a bit, because there are people he doesn’t know and the Commandos are attracting a good bit of attention—and part of him wants to stay away from Bucky. Sam’s worried look turns warning.

Steve stays rooted to the spot, and Bucky goes to change, only dropping one last confused look at Steve over his shoulder. Steve doesn’t move, and Natasha makes a little sound in the back of her throat.

“Don’t be a child, Steve,” she admonishes. “If you have a problem with him, talk to him about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles.

“You’re a terrible liar.” She stalks off to stop Clint from shooting an arrow into the drink dispenser. Clint's been pregaming.

Bucky reemerges a few minutes later, and of course everyone makes them take pictures together. Their costumes go together. Steve is taut and uncomfortable the whole time, and he can tell it’s making Bucky anxious.

It’s not fear; he’s not worried Bucky’s going to hurt him. He knows he won’t. He just doesn’t know what to do. He should be on Sam’s side. He’s known Sam longer, and Sam’s done so much for him. He needs to support Sam. But after what he said—he called Bucky _crazy_ —Bucky’s going to think that’s the issue if Steve starts pulling away. Whether he hurt Sam or not, Steve doesn’t want Bucky to feel like a freak.

“Is something wrong?” Bucky murmurs in his ear as they press together for another photo. Steve shakes his head without saying anything.

“Hey, Steve, I need your help over here,” Sam bellows across the room. Steve flees without a backward glance. Sam shoves him around the corner and into the bedroom. “Stop it,” he orders.

Steve blows out a breath. “I don’t—”

“Shut up,” Sam cuts him off harshly. “You’re freaking him out. I get it, okay? You know what he’s capable of now—”

“That’s not it!” Steve breaks in angrily. “I know he’s not going to hurt me.”

“Then what’s your problem?” Sam asks. “You guys usually get along perfectly, in your own little way. Now you won’t even look at him.”

Steve hangs his head. “I’m not as mad at him as I should be.”

Sam’s quiet as he thinks that over. He crosses his arms. “You think you should be madder at him than you are?”

“He hurt you,” Steve points out. “And I…” He hesitates. “I feel like I want to give him a hug.”

“Yeah, you should,” Sam says. “Everything that happened was shitty for him.”

“But I should hate him for hurting you,” Steve says in a small voice. Sam’s face softens and he shakes his head.

“Steve,” he says with a fond little laugh. “You don’t gotta defend my honor or whatever this bullshit is. I’m good as new. It wasn’t his fault. He already apologized for it. I don’t hold anything against him, okay? So neither should you.”

“But…” Steve shrugs. “I’d hold a grudge against anyone else.”

Sam sighs a little. “Look, I’m touched, man. And I’m not being an asshole—I really am. But this isn’t a black and white situation, you know? You know what he went through and you know why that would make him lash out if he thinks someone’s coming up behind him. You’d hold a grudge against anyone else who hurt me, but I don’t think you would if it was the same exact situation and _not_ Barnes. I think you’d have a hard time being mad at anyone who went through what he did and had a little trouble.”

“I got mad and called him crazy two weeks ago,” Steve confesses. He doesn’t know why he said it. He doesn’t know what it has to do with anything. Sam sucks in a shocked breath.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Sam barks.

“I know.”

Sam hums, making a considering face. “That’s why you want to be mad at him. You want to justify what you said.”

Steve covers his face with his hands. Now that Sam says it, he can feel the truth of it. “I’m the worst person in the world,” he whispers through his hands, feeling a lump in his throat.

“No, you’re not,” Sam chides gently. “You’re just human.”

“I don’t know how any of you can put up with me,” Steve mumbles. “I’m the worst.”

“We’re not doing this,” Sam says firmly. “We’re not spiraling right now. What we’re doing is going back out to the party, and you’re going to have fun and you’re not going to ignore your boy. Got it?”

Steve takes a deep breath and lowers his hands. He nods. “Got it.”

Sam pulls him in for a tight hug. “You’re not the worst,” he assures Steve. “Let’s go.”

Steve can feel Bucky watching him as he and Sam come back out to the party. Riley gives them a questioning look and Sam just nods at him. Steve goes to stand by Bucky. The nerves coming off Bucky are making Steve jumpy too, even though it was Steve’s actions that made Bucky nervous in the first place. It’s a vicious cycle.

Most of the party guests are at least tipsy at this point, and the volume in the room is rising. The food is, as always, delicious, and Riley, ever the good host, is keeping an eye on the table to make sure the plates don’t stay empty.

Natasha and Clint are dancing with some of the other teachers from Riley’s school, and Dugan and Sam are arm wrestling good-naturedly. Some guy Steve doesn’t know says, “Sick costumes,” as he walks by them to get more food, and Steve and Bucky both nod at him silently.

Finally, Steve can’t take it anymore, so he taps Bucky on the arm and signs _follow me_. Bucky does, but he looks wary. Steve leads him through Sam and Riley’s room to the fire escape.

“It’s quieter out here,” Steve explains. Bucky nods, still not saying anything, fidgeting with the edge of his cloak. It’s silent for a moment, as silent as the city gets and with the music from the party fading out from the open window, while Steve gathers his courage, and then he blurts out, “Sam told me what happened. At the VA.”

Bucky stills. “Oh.”

Steve expected him to say more than that. He was hoping Bucky would have something to say so Steve could react to that instead of having to think of something to say.

“I’m mad,” Steve says.

“Okay,” Bucky says, looking down at their feet. Steve’s are bare, showing off the fake hair. Bucky’s wearing boots, his favorite kind of shoes besides his running shoes.

“But I’m not as mad as I’d expect to be,” Steve admits. Bucky peeks up at him. “It wasn’t your fault,” Steve says softly, and he knows he really believes it after he says it. Bucky clenches his jaw and looks away.

“Okay,” he repeats dully. It’s not agreement.

“It wasn’t,” Steve insists.

Bucky scuffs a shoe against the railing. “When you said…you know.” He shrugs. Steve’s heart clenches. He does know. “That was the first thing I thought of. You said it and you didn’t even know the half of it.”

“Bucky, you’re not crazy,” Steve says. “Bad things happened to you and you have to deal with that, and…and that’s not always going to be pretty but you’re still here and you’re dealing with it.”

Bucky just shrugs again. “Sometimes I can agree with that. Sometimes I just feel pretty fucking crazy.”

Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that. He doesn’t know how to make Bucky understand that Steve thinks he’s incredible and brave and strong for how good he is even after everything he’s been through. Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist and leans his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what else to do. Bucky sighs and puts his arm around Steve’s shoulder, rests his head against Steve’s.

“Sam says you don’t go to the VA for therapy anymore,” Steve remembers. “I thought you were going to therapy all those times you’re gone all day.”

“I am,” Bucky says. “But I don’t go.”

Steve pulls away, straightens up to look at Bucky. “What do you mean?”

Bucky shakes his head and looks away. “I guess you deserve to know.” It takes him a minute before he goes on. “I make the appointments and I say I’m going to go to the group sessions, and I even show up at the building half the time. The other half I just stay on the train and don't get off. But, uh. Even if I make it to the building...I can’t make myself go in. I hide in the bathroom. First time I saw you in that bathroom I was hiding from a group session.”

“But you’re there all day,” Steve says, a little confused. Bucky rubs a hand over his face.

“There’s more than one session a day. And I think, okay, I missed the first one, so I’ll make the next one. And I miss that one, too, so I shoot for the next one, and I just…” He swallows hard. “I can never do it, and I end up staying all day.”

Steve feels like someone is pressing on his chest. His heart hurts. He thinks of Bucky in the bathroom that day that feels like forever ago now, all nervous, darting eyes and shaking hands, and thinks of him doing that every day all summer long, hiding and berating himself, angry at his own anxieties, all alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks softly.

Bucky’s eyes are shiny and Steve’s glad it’s dark so he can pretend he doesn’t see Bucky crying. He knows that’s what Bucky wants. But seeing Bucky’s tears makes his own eyes hot.

“What would telling you do?” Bucky asks. “Not gonna fix anything.”

“God, Bucky, you get on my case for trying to do everything alone, but look at you,” Steve chokes out. “Let me help you.”

“How?” Bucky asks, and Steve’s speechless again. He doesn’t have a solution. He just wants to make it better.  
  
He hugs Bucky fiercely, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s trembling a little, slight enough that he could pass it off as being cold if he wanted. He strokes a hand through Steve’s hair, and they stay like that for a long time, just holding on.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve tilts his head as he looks at the couple in the park. He does his best not to sketch people without their permission, especially strangers in the park after that last fiasco when he got in that fight, but they’re just so happy Steve couldn’t help himself. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can tell they’re both doing their best to make the other laugh, and they’re succeeding, too.

As he watches, the girl makes a big, wild gesture with her arms, and the guy ducks out of her way, cracking up again. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her once. It’s enough to give Steve heartburn, really. It’s cold, though, and the November wind is biting at his nose, so he doesn’t know if he’ll stay out here much longer. He took his gloves off because it’s hard to draw with them on.

He wonders if he should give the couple the picture he drew. Would they be creeped out by some random guy drawing them? But they should like it, he thinks; it shows off how much fun they’re having together.

He looks down at the drawing and blinks a few times. He can’t give them the picture. He looks over at the guy. He doesn’t have a cleft chin. So why did Steve draw one? The shape of the face is all wrong; the eyes are wrong. Steve shakes his head and shoves the picture in his bag, tugging his gloves back on. It feels like he can’t draw anything right these days, except his dumb comic he’s just drawing for fun.

Steve trudges home. He walks in the front door and sees all five Commandos in his living room. Eating his allergen-free chocolate brownies.

"Cap!" Dugan yells.

"Hi," Steve says, a little surprised. It's only 3:00 on a Wednesday and they all have full-time jobs. "What are you guys doing here?"

Before anyone can answer, Bucky comes down the hall admonishing, "You little shits better not be eating all Steve's brownies!"

Gabe drops his brownie guiltily. Morita just shrugs apologetically and keeps eating. Dugan picks up the brownie Gabe dropped and takes a bite, raising his eyebrows teasingly at Steve.

"Oh," Bucky says, spotting Steve. "Hi. I didn't think you'd be home so early." He comes over and presses an absent kiss to Steve's lips. "Weren't you at the park?"

Steve's hands wind around Bucky's waist automatically. "I was getting kinda cold," he admits. It's an understatement; his hands could barely hold his pencil by the time he'd left. Bucky rubs Steve's arms.

"You need some tea or something? Were you wearing your gloves?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yes, Ma," he says sarcastically, even though he wasn’t for the bulk of the time. Bucky rolls his eyes right back. He probably knows Steve is lying.

"Sarge, we gotta get going," Dugan reminds him.

"Where are you going?" Steve asks.

"Group therapy," Falsworth informs him cheerfully.

"At the VA," Dernier adds. "There's usually cookies."

"Nasty cookies," Morita points out.

"Not good brownies," Gabe agrees, apparently over his guilt as he grabs another.

Bucky's ducking his head when Steve turns to him, cheeks going a little red. "I asked them to come with me," he says softly. "Maybe it'll help." Steve's so proud his heart could burst. He squeezes Bucky tight.

"That's good," he murmurs, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "That'll be good."

He wishes he could be there too, to hold Bucky's hand and help him get in the actual room, but he knows it wouldn't be appropriate to invade a safe space for the other members of the group. He's just so happy Bucky found a solution.

"Well," Bucky shrugs. "We'll see."

Steve wants to tell Bucky he's proud that Bucky even asked, but he knows Bucky doesn't want to make a big deal of it, especially with the guys there, even if they are completely aware of the enormity of the situation. So Steve just smiles at him and pulls him in for another tight hug, pressing his face into Bucky's neck.

"Good luck," he whispers. "Call me if you need me."

"Kay," Bucky whispers back. He leads the Commandos out, all of them chorusing their goodbyes, and Gabe turns around and says,

"Sorry for eating your brownies."

Steve laughs. "That's alright. Sorry they weren't normal."

"They were fucking good!" Morita yells back over his shoulder just before Gabe closes the door. Steve shakes his head a little, still laughing. He waits around to hear from Bucky, but he doesn't get any calls or texts. He hopes that's a good sign. An hour and a half later, Bucky lets himself in quietly. He's a little pale, and Steve springs up off the couch worriedly.

"Alright?" He asks. He's not going to ask Bucky if he went in. Bucky shrugs.

"I didn't talk," he reports quietly.

Steve's heart leaps. That sounds like he made it to the meeting.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want," he promises Bucky. Bucky gives him a lopsided little smile.

"I have to do plenty I don't want," he corrects. Steve can't actually argue that. But he shrugs at Bucky.

"You know what I mean."

Bucky nods. "Sam was there."

Steve already knew that. But it's not like he texted Sam the second Bucky left to tell him to be on the lookout. That would be ridiculous and overbearing.  
  
Well. It’s not like he hasn’t been called worse.

"He helped," Bucky says. "And so did the boys."

Steve wants to fling his arms around Bucky. He's so happy for Bucky, so proud of him. And then he figures—why not? Since Halloween, they've been even more tactile with each other. Steve doesn’t think they’ve sat on the couch without leaning into each other, someone’s head on someone’s shoulder or in someone’s lap, since that night out on the fire escape. But he doesn't want to overwhelm Bucky. He's clearly drained already, and attacking him, even with a hug, might do more harm than good.

Steve tries to gauge how Bucky would react, but he can't read Bucky's expression beyond exhaustion. Rather than leaping on Bucky, Steve approaches slowly and wraps his arms around Bucky gently.

"Good job, Buck," he murmurs into Bucky's chest. Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, but he doesn't pull away. He puts his arms around Steve and buries his face in Steve's hair. They don't say anything for a while, then Bucky pulls back a little and asks, with a shaky little smile,

"So do I get a brownie for a reward?"

Steve laughs and squeezes Bucky one last time before releasing him. "Fine," Steve pretends to be stern. "But only one."

Bucky's smile is small and his eyes are soft. "Yeah, there's just one I want."

Steve has to duck his head away from the look on Bucky's face, his face heating up confusingly. He doesn't think to question Bucky's strange phrasing.

  
"You have to sign the paperwork today," Stark says. His voice sounds impatient, but there's a little wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows as he looks at Bucky. Bucky blows out a breath and nods wordlessly.

"We need to get this scheduled," Stark goes on. "When are your finals over?"

"The 19th," Bucky mutters.

"His last final's the 18th," Steve elaborates. "Friday night."

Stark shrugs. "The beauty of our private facility is we can do the surgery on Saturday if we want."

"That fast?" Steve blurts. "Can't he have a day off?"

Stark raises an eyebrow. "Well, okay. We can do it Sunday."

"Sorry," Steve mutters, embarrassed. "It's up to you, Buck."

"I like Sunday," Bucky says.

"I'll have to clear it with Helen and Bruce," Stark says. "If it works for them, we're golden. It won't be hard to get nurses and techs in here. You’ll need to be good that weekend, though. No alcohol, don’t eat or drink the night before, you know the drill. Do you want to consult a lawyer for the risk portion?"

Bucky sighs. "No."

"I have to ask that," Stark says. "Compliance, law suits, the usual. Pepper gets angry when I forget."

"Risks?" Steve asks.

Stark narrows his eyes. "They're lower than if anyone else in the world were doing it. And if they were doing it anywhere else."

"But?" Steve presses.

"Well, it's still brain surgery," Stark points out. "It's not exactly risk-free."

Steve's stomach is churning and his mouth is suddenly dry. "What kind of risks?"

Stark's eyes cut over to Bucky before he says slowly, "You haven't really talked much about this, have you?"

"Risk of death," Bucky says. His voice is completely flat.

"How likely is death?" Steve asks, feeling like all the air in the room is being sucked away. His voice is surprisingly even for how he feels.

"Twelve percent," Stark says without hesitation. "Technically. But not—"

"Twelve percent?" Steve echoes in a shriek. "That's—that's so high!" Steve's had his fair share of medical procedures. Anything over ten percent for chance of death is outlandishly dangerous. He can’t breathe. Twelve percent chance that Bucky will die. Steve digs his fingernails into his palm. He can’t think of Bucky dying; can’t think of his body going cold and rigid, can’t think of another person who makes him feel safe going away again.

"It's really more like 5 percent, with our facilities and expertise," Stark argues. Steve barely even hears him.

"That's too high; twelve percent, are you kidding me? I can't--"

"Better odds than I had in the Army," Bucky interrupts. The room goes quiet except for Dum-E making a little whining sound as it picks up tools and moves them to a different table.

"But..." Steve trails off. This is Bucky's life, Bucky's decision. He can't say _but what happens to me if you die_?

"Gimme a pen," Bucky says resolutely, and Steve watches, throat tight and barely breathing, as he signs the dotted line saying he’ll risk it.

  
"James, you're on potato peeling!" Winifred orders the moment Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Clint get inside. The Commandos all went home—or, in Dernier and Falsworth’s cases, to their friends’ homes—and Sam and Riley went to Sam’s parents’ house in D.C., but Natasha and Clint were planning to spend Thanksgiving the way they have for years: pizza and the shooting range. Winifred, of course, wouldn’t hear of it.

"Clint, can you please help George with the tables? He's going to throw his back out. Natasha, I need you to keep an eye on Edgar. Don’t let him drink too much before dinner even starts. He’s mean enough without being drunk, too, and Rachel lets him get away with too much. And Steve, I need you on pie crust."

"I don't know how to make pie crust," Steve says blankly as Bucky takes their coats to hang up.

"No, honey, it's already made, but you need to roll it out and put it in the pan. But someday you're going to come over and we'll work on making it, okay?" Winifred's kitchen it a flurry of activity; Thanksgiving dinner is in an hour.

"Uh." Steve doesn't know if he wants to learn to make pie crust. Can't he just buy it premade at the store?

"Just say yes," Bucky advises. "She's going to steamroll right over a no."

Winifred flicks a dishrag at him. "Show me some respect," she warns. "I went through—"

"Fourteen hours of labor," Bucky parrots at her. She rolls her eyes at him and he grins. Steve wonders if he's just imagining the sadness in Bucky's eyes because he knows the bomb Bucky's going to drop later.

Bucky's been nervous and fidgety all day, worried about telling his family—Winifred especially—about the surgery. Steve understands that he's worried about upsetting people, but he thinks Bucky's overreacting a bit. But it's not like he's going to tell Bucky that.

Steve really doesn't know what he's doing with the lump of pie crust and the rolling pin. "Switch me!" He hisses at Bucky. Steve definitely knows his way around a potato.

"No way," Bucky laughs. "I don't want to screw up Thanksgiving pie."

"Bucky!" Steve groans. "You'll let _me_ screw it up?"

"Absolutely," Bucky tells him cheerfully. "No one will yell at you for it."

Steve harrumphs and looks back to the tools in front of him. He sincerely doubts anyone would yell at Bucky, either, but he knows Bucky won’t listen to that.

"Oh, dear, what are you doing?" Winifred asks. "Roll the crust out thin, okay? You've got the crust for top and bottom of three pies."

"The top _and_ bottom, huh?" Bucky echoes under his breath. Winifred doesn't hear him, so Steve shoots him a dirty look for her. Steve waits to pick up the rolling pin until Winifred has gone back to the stuffing, but he looks apprehensively at the pie tin.

"C'mere, look," Bucky finally takes pity on him when Winifred leaves the kitchen to oversee the table settings. "Put down the flour so it doesn't stick to the counter or the rolling pin. Then roll it out thin, like this." He wraps his arms around Steve from behind and guides his hands on the rolling pin. Steve’s heart jumps weirdly for no discernible reason. It’s not like he has any reason to feel weird about Bucky touching him; they cuddle up more often than not.

"You don't have to push down real hard or anything," Bucky goes on. Steve can feel his face going red. Is Bucky _trying_ to sound suggestive? He usually makes his tone overly-innocent when he is. He just sounds normal.

"Then you put the crust in the tin," Bucky says, voice soft in Steve's ear. He leads Steve through shaping it to the tin and cutting away the excess crust.

"Oh goodness, look at the two of you," Aunt Kay says from the doorway. Steve jumps and Bucky gives him a little squeeze. "Adorable, that's what it is."

"Thanks, Aunt Kay," Bucky says, rolling his eyes a little.

"I remember those days with Bob," Aunt Ann says wistfully, exchanging a knowing glance with her sister. "Any excuse to touch each other."

"Jeez, Aunt Ann, cool it," Bucky protests. "Steve just doesn't know how to make pie."

"Mmhmm," Aunt Kay says. "And you're sure showing him."

They both cackle, and Steve feels his face burn. Bucky pulls away and Steve finds himself avoiding his eyes. It really _was_ harmless. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of it.  
  
Dinner gets underway without any major hiccups. The pie crust is a little lopsided, and fruit spills through one pie, but Winifred beams at him and says proudly,

"Steve did the pies."

"He sure did," Aunt Ann cracks, making Kay giggle beside her. Steve covers his face with his hands and Bucky pats his leg under the table.

"You'd think they'd be nicer," Bucky commiserates loud enough for his aunts to hear. "Old ladies are supposed to love you."

That, of course, makes Ann and Kay forget about the pie incident as they scold Bucky for calling them old.

"So, Steve," Uncle Edgar starts, tone already confrontational, and Steve feels Bucky tense beside him. "You still pushing that art thing?"

"Uncle Edgar—"

Steve laces his fingers through Bucky’s on his leg to get him to stop. Bucky's going to have a hard enough time at this dinner. He doesn't need to go to bat for Steve, too.

"I am," Steve says evenly.

"Steve's drawing a comic book," Bailey pipes up. Edgar rolls his eyes.

"It's really good!" Beth adds. "Bucky let me see some. Steve's such a good artist."

Steve smiles gratefully at them and takes the roll Mark passes his way.

"A comic book?" Edgar says disparagingly. "I'm sure that makes your parents proud." His wife, Rachel, hisses,

“Edgar!”

There's an awkward silence for a beat. Steve doesn't know how to reply to that, throat clogging up with discomfort and embarrassment and the pain of missing his mother that he’s only been barely keeping at bay all day. Natasha's eyes are narrowed to slits and Bucky opens his mouth, furious, but George speaks first.

"Of course they are," he says lightly. "There's not a thing about Steve not to be proud of."

"Now shut up and eat your dinner," Kay adds.

Steve states down at his plate for a minute, throat tight. Steve understands Winifred; she's different than his own mother, but she's a mother. George has always been a bit strange to him, but hearing him say that raises a lump in Steve's throat. Bucky gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. Steve smiles at him to show he's okay. Natasha, on Steve’s other side, presses her arm against Steve’s, and Clint has his lips pursed.

"Mama, _no_ green beans!" Jamie bellows, breaking through the tension in the room. He also flings the offending vegetables off his plate, and Steve chooses to think the way they hit Edgar is his own mark of support.

Bucky waits until dessert's been passed around before he swallows nervously and clears his throat. "Um." He bites his lip. "I gotta tell you all something."

"We already know you're gay," Becca jokes. Bucky manages a tight little smile and Becca's forehead creases with worry.

"I have to...” He clears his throat again. “My, um. My arm’s been acting up. So I have to get surgery again.”

The table falls silent. Clint, who was engaging Jamie in a spirited diatribe against green beans, snaps his mouth shut, looking around the table.

“Your arm’s been acting up how?” George asks, eyebrows drawing together the same way Bucky’s do.

Bucky grimaces. “Overheating. It’s uh…it’s overheating when I’m emotional, I guess? I—because of my brain.”

“How long has that been happening?” Becca asks. “You’ve never said anything about it.”

Bucky’s sinking farther and farther down into his seat, uncomfortable talking about this and especially with everyone looking at him. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know it was overheating.”

“You didn’t know?” Bailey echoes. “What do you mean?”

Bucky’s eyes are darting around the room now. “I didn’t realize it was…hot. Too hot.”

“So how did you realize it?” Beth asks.

Bucky glances at Steve from the corner of his eye. “Steve realized.”

“Of course he did,” Ann says approvingly. Becca’s looking at Steve shrewdly, and Mark’s eyebrows are up to his hairline.

“How did he realize it?” Beth asks.

Kay coughs. “Honey.”

“We don’t need talk like that at the dinner table,” Edgar protests.

“Edgar, don’t you even start,” Rachel says.

“I realized it when I felt his arm,” Steve cuts in, glaring at Edgar. He supposes Bucky’s whole family can’t be perfect.

“When is the surgery?” George asks. “Is it with Dr. Cho again?”

“Dr. Cho’s doing the surgery,” Bucky confirms. “And Dr. Banner and Stark will be there assisting, too. It’s um. December 20.”

“That’s so soon!” Bailey cries, distressed. “That’s…that’s not even a month! Christmas break will just have started.”

“Are the risks the same as last time?” George’s voice is quiet. Even Ella is silent, gumming at a graham cracker.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. Becca sucks in a breath. Winifred pushes her chair back and stands up, leaving the table wordlessly. She’s crying, and Steve’s stomach drops at the sight of it. He’s seen Winifred cry a few times, since she does it easily, but never like this. Never unhappily.

“Ma,” Bucky murmurs helplessly. “It’ll be okay.”

Winifred just shakes her head, lips pressed together, and goes into the kitchen. Bucky hangs his head.

“It’ll be okay,” George says. “We can trust Dr. Cho. You’ll be fine.”

Steve’s throat feels like it’s clogged. He can’t stand to see how scared and sad everyone looks. Half the family is crying, including Bucky.

“I shouldn’t have ruined dinner,” Bucky berates himself. Steve rubs his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles.

“You didn’t,” he insists.

“James, please don’t worry,” George says as he stands up from the table. “You know she just needs some time to cry it out and she doesn’t want to worry anyone. She’s not upset with you.” He follows his wife into the kitchen.

Bucky’s subdued for the rest of the evening, enough that even Jamie picks up on it. He crawls into Bucky’s lap during what’s apparently a traditional viewing of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ —“It’s officially Christmas season now,” Beth points out—and says,

“You sad?”

“I’m okay, buddy,” Bucky whispers. Jamie pats Bucky’s cheek solemnly.

“I love you,” he says. Bucky squeezes Jamie to his chest, tears gathering in his eyes that make Steve have to get up and leave the room. He needs to do something. He obviously can’t do anything to fix the situation—there’s nothing he can do about that. But he needs to move.

He can start cleaning up, at least. He loads the dishwasher and wraps up plates of leftovers. He wonders if he should set aside plates to take home, and some for Natasha and Clint, too. Usually he’d be certain Winifred would send food home with them, but he has no idea what’s going on tonight.

Steve opens the back door to take out the trash and stops when he hears Natasha’s voice, much more gentle than he’s used to hearing her sound.

“Helen Cho is the best neurosurgeon in the world, and Stark and Banner have worked with her before. They have the procedure down perfectly.”

“I know,” Bailey says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I’m just so scared.”

“It’s understandable.”

“I’m just—I’m always so scared. Of _everything_. I…” Bailey sniffs. “I can’t even date anyone because I’m just…I’m just so worried about what could happen.”

Steve knows he shouldn’t be listening. Bailey obviously feels more comfortable opening up to Natasha than him or Bucky, and she doesn’t know he can hear her. But he’s frozen on the first step.

“I was gonna finally, um. I was going to sleep with this guy. At a party,” Bailey confesses. Steve feels a weird burst of anger rise up in his chest. He thinks of the guy she’d been hanging on at the party he and Bucky went to and grimaces at the thought of her even _talking_ to him, let alone doing anything else. He was an absolute loser. She deserves so much better.

“But I was so scared,” Bailey continues softly. “And then I was drinking because I thought if I got drunk I could just get it over with, you know?”

A lot of people would probably tell Bailey sex isn’t something she should just _get it over with_. But Natasha’s silent, listening to her talk. Steve doesn’t wonder too hard why Bailey’s spilling to Natasha when she wouldn’t even talk to her own family. Natasha exudes good listener, even as she pretends she doesn’t care about anyone else.

“And it’s so stupid. Nothing even happened to me. But I see people and I just think about what they could do to hurt me. Look what happened to Bucky. And he’s a g-good person.” She breaks down, mostly, and there’s a minute of quiet except for her sobs as Natasha processes that.

“You thought your brother died,” she points out. “That’s not nothing.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Bailey asks.

“No,” Natasha tells her. Then she adds, “Steve’s the closest to a brother I’ve ever had. And if anything happened to him, I wouldn’t handle it well.”

It’s not like Steve doesn’t know Natasha loves him. But hearing her say it to someone else hits him hard. She said he was like her brother, and Natasha doesn’t bring up familial relationships pretty much ever.

“But Beth’s fine,” Bailey says. “She had the same as me.”

“You know, our friend Sam is a therapist,” Natasha says. “Well, sort of. And he told me once it doesn’t matter how anyone else in the world reacts to something. It only matters how you react.”

Bailey lets out a shaky sigh. “I just feel so stupid,” she admits. “And I don’t want to tell Mom and Dad because they’re worried enough about Bucky. I don’t want them to worry about me, too.”

“You have good parents,” Natasha says, voice flat in the way that means she’s hiding any emotion. “They worry about you whether you tell them what’s bothering you or not.”

“I guess,” Bailey says softly.

There’s another beat of silence, and then Natasha says, “I can teach you how to protect yourself, you know. That might help.”

“What, like pepper spray?” Bailey asks.

“No.” There’s a little smile in Natasha’s voice. “Hand to hand combat, really. I’ve been teaching my friend Pepper; I think you’ve met her. Ms. Potts, who works with Tony Stark. We’ve been talking about starting up a free self-defense clinic. You can be one of our guinea pigs.”

“Really?” Bailey asks.

“Sure,” Natasha says carelessly. Steve can picture her shrug, all unaffected nonchalance through diligent practice. “You’re athletic. And I think it might help you feel better.”

“You’re not going to tell me to go therapy or get medicated or something?” Bailey sounds surprised.

“I’m not exactly qualified to give that kind of advice,” Natasha says wryly.

“Thank you,” Bailey chokes out.

“I don’t want you to be afraid all the time,” Natasha says softly. “I don’t know if learning to defend yourself will completely get rid of that. But at least you’ll know what to do if you’re threatened.”

Bailey laughs, a little shakily. “Will you teach me to choke someone out with my thighs?”

Natasha chuckles. “Not in the first lesson, but sure.”

Steve backs up, back into the kitchen, his emotions churning. He’s upset that Bailey’s afraid all the time and feels like her problems aren’t important enough to talk through with anyone. But he feels so warm about Natasha in general right at that moment; his surrogate sister lending strength to his new sister-in-law.

In the house, he sees Winifred’s emerged from her bedroom, tears still in her eyes but her arm wrapped tight around Bucky’s shoulders. Beth has Jamie on her lap, because he’s afraid of the Grinch. Mark’s asleep in an armchair, and Clint and George are throwing popcorn into his open mouth, George looking about twenty years younger as he laughs. Becca’s babbling with Ella, who’s laughing uproariously when her mother imitates her. Steve’s phone is blowing up with _happy thanksgiving!_ texts from Sam and Riley and an argument about whether or not _Turkey Day_ divests the day of its spirit of gratitude courtesy of the Commandos, with Morita pointing out that the spirit of gratitude doesn’t cover all the awfulness that happened to the Native Americans. Peggy sent him a snapchat earlier of herself eating a turkey sandwich. _Best I could do for you yanks,_ she’d captioned it.

He has a _family_ again, much bigger than he ever had before, and sometimes it’s messy and loud and painful and sometimes Uncle Edgar is an asshole, but his chest feels warm and he almost wants to cry with the feeling of it all.

That night, he holds onto Bucky tightly, burrowing his face into Bucky’s shoulder. Their year is half gone already, and Steve doesn’t know what he’s going to do when their time is up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take it.

“Jeez, Steve, you’re an octopus tonight,” Bucky grouses without making any move to untangle himself.

“That was a good Thanksgiving,” Steve says. “Um, mostly.”

“I shouldn’t have told everyone today,” Bucky says. “It could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

“Or you could’ve told them sooner,” Steve points out. Bucky snorts but doesn’t argue.

“At least no one broke any bones this year, I guess,” Bucky muses. “Ma’s gonna get more upset the closer we get to the surgery, though.”

“And what about you?” Steve asks. It’s easier to ask these things when they’re in bed, under cover of darkness, not looking at each other’s faces but cuddled up close. Bucky blows out a breath.

“I’ll probably get worse, too,” he admits softly. “I don’t really know if I can do this.”

Steve thinks of all the ways Bucky’s come so far, with asking the Commandos to go with him to the VA and sleeping through the night and making it through _Slaughterhouse Five_ for his English class even though some of the chapters make him tremble until Steve refuses to keep reading for the day. He thinks, too, of how Bucky is strong for him—cajoling him into eating when he just feels tired and doesn’t want to, pushing back when he tries to do too much, buying the flowers for Sarah’s grave but still giving Steve his own space when he goes to see her.

“You can do it,” Steve assures him gently, tipping his head back to put his lips close to Bucky’s ear so he can’t miss it. “I know you can.”

“And you’ll be there?” Bucky asks. “For the surgery?”

Part of Steve is offended Bucky even feels the need to ask. Of course Steve’s going to be there. Bucky’s his best friend. But he understands why Bucky would need reassurance; part of it is probably still the aftermath of Steve’s horrible comment, but a lot of it is just regular old anxiety. He understands that all too well.

Steve strokes his thumb across a knob in Bucky’s spine. “’Till the end of the line,” he promises.

  
“Steven, you have improved greatly,” Thor tells him jovially. “That was an hour without a break, and you only had to use your inhaler one time.”

Steve’s panting so hard he can’t speak, which he thinks might undercut Thor’s point slightly, but he grins. His endurance has been building up slowly but surely, and he loves it.

“I’m sure your husband enjoys the increase in stamina,” Volstagg says with a wink and a leer. Sif snorts.

“Volstagg, have you put thought into that?”

“He likes to think about _someone_ enjoying stamina, since he definitely is not,” Fandrul cracks. Hogun gives him a fist bump while Volstagg rolls his eyes.

“You guys are laughing awful hard,” Bucky comments suspiciously, walking up to the ring. His shirt’s sticking to his back, and Steve watches a bead of sweat run down his neck and into the hollow of his throat. He wants to draw it.

“Just talking about Volstagg’s love life,” Hogun tells him innocently.

“Or lack thereof,” Sif adds.

“It’s not Volstagg’s fault,” Thor interrupts. “He had to leave his beloved sheep back in Norway.”

Everyone groans at that, but Thor doesn’t seem to care.

“Barnes, will you ever spar with us?” Thor asks when he’s done laughing at his own joke.

Bucky’s jaw goes tighter. “Nah,” he says.

“Come on, Buck,” Steve cajoles. He just wants Bucky to let loose and have some fun. His surgery’s in two weeks and it’s hanging over them like a raincloud. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“I’m definitely not sparring with you,” Bucky says, voice getting a little tighter. “Not gonna happen.”

“I see merit to separating sparring from your romantic life,” Sif says.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, licking his lips. “I just don’t wanna…” He shrugs. “I don’t to hit you. I don’t want to hit anyone.”

Steve starts pulling off his gloves. Bucky’s fidgeting in the way that means he needs to leave, and Steve and Thor are done with their work out anyway. Usually at this point they just clown around for a while until Bucky’s ready to go.

“Ready?” He asks Bucky.

“If you are,” Bucky answers, the way this script always goes.

They grab their stuff from the locker room and Steve sees a missed call and a voicemail from Peggy. They don’t usually bother leaving each other voicemails, but it might be her being silly. He waits until they get home and Bucky gets in the shower to listen to it. He wants to spend as much time with Bucky as possible before the surgery. In case…

He stops that thought before it can continue, shakes his head and listens to the voicemail.

“Hello, Steve! It’s your favorite woman on earth. Don’t tell Natasha I said that, of course. I’ve been working on my fighting but I still know I can’t beat her. I have wonderful news! I’m going to be in New York in two weeks! I’ll get in on the 18th, it’s a Friday. I have some meetings during the day but then I’m yours all weekend. Call me back, darling! I’m so excited to see you.”

Steve puts his phone down and stares at it for a moment. He can hear Bucky singing in the shower, interspersed with curses when he forgets the words. Peggy’s coming. Steve’s stomach is full of butterflies. Peggy is coming the same weekend as Bucky’s surgery.

Steve has no idea how this is going to play out.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rushing through posting this, so forgive any mistakes, but I wanted to get this chapter out before I go out of town this weekend. :)

Steve’s fidgety. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to tell Bucky about Peggy coming to visit. Bucky’s said more than once he’d like to meet Peggy in person. They’ve talked during Steve and Peggy’s Skype calls; they both get a kick out of teasing Steve. And he knows his fears about Bucky and Peggy secretly falling in love behind his back are unfounded, so it’s not that.

But something is causing a wriggly feeling in his stomach at the thought of Peggy and Bucky in the same room. Maybe it’s just that he thinks both of them will see how cool the other is and simultaneously realize how dull Steve is.

He scolds himself for the thought. Peggy’s already proven she’s going to stick around, and Bucky’s his best friend. Bucky reads Steve’s dorky little comics, for crying out loud. He won’t lose interest that quickly.

Probably.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bucky asks bluntly after Steve drops his fork on the ground at dinner. “You’ve been squirrely all day.”

“I’m not squirrely,” Steve protests, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Okay,” Bucky says in a tone that means he’s planning to humor Steve and be really obvious about it. “You’re not squirrely.”

“I, um.” Steve licks his lips, staring down at his pasta. Bucky looked up some recipe for pesto sauce or something, since tomato sauce hurts Steve’s stomach and alfredo sauce is out. It’s good, but it’s green, and it’s sort of weird to see green sauce on your noodles. “I gotta tell you something,” Steve says, shaking his head a little against the distracting thoughts.

Bucky’s fork pauses just outside his mouth. “You don’t like my pesto?” He asks. He actually sounds a little offended, even though it’s probably blander than what Bucky’s used to eating because he left out the cheese that’s supposed to go in it—even though Steve said he could just leave it out for Steve’s—and cut down the garlic so Steve wouldn’t get as bad of heartburn.

“No,” Steve says quickly. “I mean, yes. I _do_ like it. It’s really good. Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky takes the bite that’s been waiting. “You’re welcome. So what’s up?”

“Um, I got a voicemail while we were at the gym yesterday.” He shrugs. “I should’ve told you yesterday but I…well, I was…”

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, eyebrows drawing together worriedly. “Is everything okay? Is something wrong with Sam?”

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” Steve promises. He berates himself for not starting with that; he knows Bucky’s mind immediately jumps to worst-case scenarios. He takes a deep breath and jumps in. “Peggy’s coming to visit.”

Bucky blinks. He takes another bite. He chews a few times. He swallows. He takes a drink of water. He swallows again.

“Oh,” he finally says. “Cool.” His face is completely blank.

“Um, she’s coming…she’s coming the same weekend as your surgery,” Steve says in a rush. “She gets in on Friday, in the morning, but she’s got meetings and stuff during the day, so I thought maybe we could all go out after your final?”

Bucky takes another drink of water. Why is he so thirsty all of a sudden? Steve shakes his head a little. Why is he paying attention to that?

“You want me to come out with you and Peggy,” he says slowly. “On your date?”

“What? Who said anything about a date?” Steve asks, voice getting a little higher with nerves. Bucky gives him a look.

“You mean you’re not going to take her on a date? You two are all moony over each other on Skype and then she comes to visit and you want me to tag along?”

Steve flounders a little. There’s a lot in that sentence to sidetrack him, but he presses on. “Well, I mean, I thought all of us could go out. You know, all our friends. Natasha, Sam, Riley, and Clint will want to hang out with Peggy, too, and you should celebrate the end of your first semester, so I thought the Commandos could come too and we could all do something together.”

Bucky wipes his mouth on his napkin. “But aren’t you going to take her on a date at all?”

“I don’t know if she wants to go on a date with me,” Steve confesses, a little quieter as he deflates a bit. Bucky purses his lips.

“She does,” he says. “It’s pretty easy to tell.”

And that’s…something. Steve can’t think about that just yet. He will, he _definitely_ will, later, but right now he has to focus on the task at hand.

“Bucky,” he says seriously. “I’m still going to be there for your surgery. I don’t want you to think Peggy coming to visit means I won’t.”

Bucky looks down at his plate. “You don’t have to.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s a little shocked, truth be told. “I promised I’d be there. And I—I _want_ to be there.”

“You should take her out,” Bucky insists. “That’ll be the perfect time to do it; you won’t have to feel like you’re ditching me or anything like that. Go out and have fun.”

Steve just stares at him. How can Bucky possibly think Steve would be able to have fun while Bucky’s on the operating table? Steve’s throat feels a little tight. Does Bucky not actually _want_ Steve there? But he’d asked. He’d sounded scared and almost desperate when he’d asked.

“I promised,” Steve repeats, feeling numb. “I don’t break promises.”

Bucky stands up, taking his plate—still half full—to the sink. “You don’t have to.”

Steve feels like he’s going to cry. What kind of friend does Bucky think he is? “You’re my best friend,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “You could—” _Die_ , he doesn’t say. He _won’t_ say. Bucky hears it anyway. Of course he does. He puts his plate down on the counter and comes back around to the table, crouches beside Steve’s chair so he’s looking up at Steve, and Steve can’t stop focusing on how long his eyelashes are or how blue his eyes look.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m gonna be fine, okay? I’m indestructible, you know?” He smiles teasingly. “I’m part robot.”

“Cyborg,” Steve corrects, and Bucky’s smile grows.

“Whatever,” he says, like he’s not the one with a shelf full of science fiction novels. He reaches out and smooths down the cowlick in Steve’s hair. It doesn’t help the wanting to cry feeling. “You can go out and have fun and not worry about me one bit, because nothing’s going to happen to me.”

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He has to stop himself from grabbing Bucky around the neck and squeezing him in as tight a hug as Steve can manage. “Bucky, I’m gonna be there. You can’t get rid of me,” he says stubbornly. Bucky’s smile looks a little sadder now.

“Okay,” he says. “Sure, Steve.” He pulls away and goes back to the abandoned Tupperware he was putting his leftover pasta into. “I just don’t want you to feel bad if something else comes up.”

“Nothing’s going to stop me from being there,” Steve insists. For a second, Steve could swear he sees pain flash over Bucky’s face, but when he looks closer it’s gone.

“Hey, enough of this dark stuff. You wanna make cookies? I’ll even use an oven mitt.”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “Sure. Let’s make cookies.”

  
Steve can tell Bucky’s getting nervous at the approach of his finals. He’s staying up later, going for longer runs, and his hair is positively unruly when he finally comes to bed after a full day of grabbing at it anxiously.

But there’s not much Steve can do to help. He can quiz Bucky and read his notes back to him, but he’s not going to be able to be there for the tests. He has a question he wants to ask Bucky, but he thinks it’ll probably upset him. Still, after Bucky spends two hours on a twenty-question biology sample test, Steve sucks it up and asks.

“Have you talked to your professors about getting extra time?”

Bucky scowls and turns the page in his textbook. “No.”

“Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky shoots back sullenly. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair for the fifth time in ten minutes. “I know I need to.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head. “Saying that means it _is_ something to be ashamed of.”

Steve doesn’t even bother replying to that, just glares at Bucky instead. Bucky rolls his eyes a little. “Don’t gimme that death look.”

“Then don’t say stupid shit.”

Bucky barks out a little laugh. “Well, that’s sorta the problem, isn’t it?”

Steve glares harder. “You’re not stupid. Well, you’re _being_ stupid right now, but you’re not stupid generally.”

Bucky laughs again. He smiles over at Steve and says teasingly, “Boy, you sure know how to build a guy up.”

Steve shrugs unconcernedly, walking over to the kitchen. “One of my special talents,” he tosses back over his shoulder. Bucky snorts elegantly.

Steve has lunch with Sam and Natasha on the last day of Bucky’s classes. He’s planning to spend most of his time over the next two weeks helping Bucky study, so he probably won’t see much of his other friends until Peggy gets into town.

“You nervous?” Sam asks, waggling his eyebrows. Steve shrugs and drags a French fry through the ketchup on his plate.

“Not really,” he admits, and he’s not lying. “I’m excited to see her. But I don’t know. I thought I’d be more nervous about it, actually.”

Sam gets a look on his face like he’s going to say something, and Steve hears a thump just before Sam’s face crumples in pain. Natasha must have just kicked him under the table.

“That’s good,” she says nonchalantly, like she didn’t possibly just break one of her best friend’s tibias. “You shouldn’t be nervous to see her. You guys are good friends.”

“We are,” Steve agrees. He opens his mouth to say _but there’s a little more_ but stops himself. Is there more? He thinks there is. Or there used to be. Is there still? They haven’t been talking as much as they used to. But Peggy’s busy. Then again, Peggy’s always been busy. Steve doesn’t really know what’s changed. Steve hasn’t even talked to her since he called her back to confirm her visit.

“What are we doing Friday night when she gets here?” Natasha asks.

“Dugan wants to do karaoke,” Sam says. Steve wrinkles his nose.

“Karaoke?” He whines. “Also, wait, what? When did you talk to Dugan?”

Sam nods, sucking down on his iced tea. “At group yesterday.”

Steve’s burning to ask how that’s going, how the Commandos are doing—really, specifically, how Bucky’s doing—but he forces himself not to. For one thing, Sam won’t even answer him. For another, he’s starting to think he talks about Bucky too much. Sam gets a weird look on his face every time Steve brings him up. He doesn’t think Sam’s the type to get jealous, and in the past he’s always encouraged Steve to branch out and be more social, but Steve’s worried he’s pushing that.

“You know how I feel about karaoke,” Steve says.

“You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to,” Sam says.

“Yes, you do,” Natasha counters. “And you know Peggy will want to dance.”

Steve gulps a little. Dancing. He owes Peggy a dance; just before she left they were supposed to go dancing, and Steve’s pretty sure it was supposed to be a date. But then he’d gotten pneumonia, and she’d gone back to England.

“You guys are all going to plan it whatever I say,” Steve gripes, mostly joking. Natasha nods.

“Yes, we will, and you’ll go along with it.”

“Is Barnes going to do karaoke?” Sam asks skeptically.

Steve shrugs. “I’m sure he loves karaoke. Or used to. But now…” He shrugs again. “And after taking a final, probably not. He won’t exactly be feeling on top of the world.”

Natasha frowns. “Morita said Barnes is great at karaoke.”

“I’m sure he is,” Steve says. “I’m just saying he might not want to.”

“Well, ask him,” Natasha orders. “He’ll do it if you ask.”

Steve feels himself blushing a little. “What? Not if he doesn’t want to.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Steve, that boy would jump off a cliff if you asked him to.”

Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that. “Well, he’s my friend,” he points out. “I’d do pretty much anything for him, too.”

“Oh, we know,” Natasha says under her breath. Steve gives her a look. Why are they both acting so weird?

“Okay, I got some big news,” Sam breaks in. “Big news.”

“What’s up?” Steve asks. Sam looks excited, so it’s something good. “Did you get promoted?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No. Even though I should.”

“You should’ve been made the manager years ago,” Steve agrees loyally. He’s not just saying that because he’s biased and he loves Sam; Sam’s been doing most of the work the manager is supposed to do for years already because the actual manager is incompetent.

“Well, bureaucracy,” Sam says. “Anyway, no. I got Riley’s Christmas present.”

“Is it Snoopy pajamas again?” Natasha asks dryly.

“No, listen,” Sam laughs. “Although he loved those pajamas, thank you very much. Look, I’ll show you.”

Steve’s breath catches in his chest when Sam pulls out the ring box. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, sounding pretty breathless himself. Natasha’s mouth is open the tiniest bit.

“When are you going to ask him?” She asks.

“I don’t know.” Sam pops open the box and gives them a look at the silver band inside. It’s engraved all around to look like wings. “I don’t really want to do it on Christmas.”

“You’re not worried he’ll say no, are you?” Steve asks incredulously. There’s no way Riley will say no. They’ve been dating for nearly four years, and they’re both the kind of guys who want to get married.

“No, I know he’ll say yes,” Sam admits, ducking his head a little as a smile and a blush steal across his face. “I just want our day to be our day, not anything else, you know?”

“You old romantic,” Natasha teases. Sam pulls the ring out of the box and rubs his fingers along the engraved wings.

“I know,” he says unashamedly. “I’m adorable.”

Steve and Natasha laugh at him, but Steve almost feels teary-eyed. After everything Sam and Riley have been through, they absolutely deserve every happy moment that comes to them. It makes his heart full to bursting. It’s why he’s happy for Natasha and Clint, too, because he adores that they have each other.

But, of course, once he’s away from the warmth Sam and Natasha spread through his chest, he starts to feel a little melancholy about it. He can’t forget the look of absolute joy and anticipation in Sam’s eyes when he talked about it. Steve’s never had that. No one’s ever looked at him like Sam looks at Riley. Sure, he got married, but there wasn’t a whole lot of joy on Bucky’s face at any point leading up to it.

He sighs a little. It’s okay. At least he and Bucky became friends. _But you’re going to lose him_ , a little voice in his head reminds him. He grits his teeth against the thought. Well, at least he has Sam and Natasha and Clint and Riley and Peggy. He’d add the Commandos to that list, and even Bucky’s family, but he’s going to lose them, too.

He’s not in the best mood when he gets home, and it doesn’t help that he needs to work on the painting for Winifred. Smiling photo after smiling photo of a happy family. In most pictures with both Winifred and George in it, they’re smiling at each other. It mostly reminds Steve even more of how alone he’s going to be in a few short months. He can’t even work up his earlier excitement for Peggy’s visit.

So, what, she’s coming for a week and they’ll dance and then…what? She’ll go back to London and they’ll be back at square one. It’s not like that’s a sustainable relationship. One of them moving to a different country for the possibility of a relationship seems illogical at best.

Steve has to put down his pencil from where he’s sketching out the scene he’ll paint. He’s giving everyone smiles that look more like grimaces of pain, and he’s not willing to ruin this. Winifred deserves his best work. At least some part of Steve will still be with the Barnes family after all this is over, and he wants it to be a good part.

  
Steve’s in the library helping Bucky study on Thursday. Bucky took his biology final, he turned in his final essay for his English class, and he breezed through his calculus final, so all he has left is his American government class. It’s a timed test with a lot of reading and writing; there’s an essay portion. Bucky’s been fretting about it for weeks. At least with his English paper he had a lot of time to do it. He only has an hour for this test.

“Name one major roadblock the founders faced during the Constitutional Convention,” Steve reads from Bucky’s study guide. Bucky has the answers dutifully written down in the space below the question, from the review during the last week of class. His handwriting’s been improving steadily.

“Um…” Bucky squints in thought. “The Constitutional Convention…it was a long time. They had a lot of issues. Um…” He pushes his glasses further up, then shakes his head and pulls them off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Steve wonders if Bucky’s aware how distracting that is. He keeps taking off his glasses and putting them back on, and Steve loses his train of thought every time. He wants to draw Bucky in his glasses.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath and tips his head back. “Bailey’s going to kick my ass on this test.”

Steve thinks that over. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Bucky says. “I guess not. It shouldn’t be.”

Steve waits, but Bucky doesn’t go on. “But?” He prompts.

“But it kind of is,” Bucky mumbles. “Because I’m an asshole.”

Steve laughs. “Well, true as that may be, I don’t think that’s the whole reason.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Again with the confidence booster.”

“I’m just saying, you’re older. You’re used to being better than she is at stuff and maybe teaching her how to do it.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah.” They’re quiet for a minute. “International slave trade.”

“Huh?” Steve asks, pulled out of his reverie as he mentally sketched the indents at the bridge of Bucky’s nose from his glasses.

“It was one of the major roadblocks. Whether the new constitution was going to ban states from participating in the international slave trade.”

Steve glances down at Bucky’s study guide and then back at Bucky, grinning. “Yeah,” he says. “You got it.”

“Hey, guys.” It’s Chad, and he’s grinning conspiratorially.

“Hi, Chad,” Bucky says. “What’s up?”

“There’s something over your head!”

Bucky tenses automatically. “What?”

They look up and see Chad’s holding mistletoe over their heads. Bucky sighs, shoulders dropping. Steve wants to glare at Chad for unnecessarily making Bucky stress, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to Bucky’s anxiety.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss?” Chad asks enthusiastically. Bucky huffs a little.

“Chad, we’re married,” he points out. “We can kiss whenever we want.”

“But it’s mistletoe!” Chad says. “You gotta!”

Bucky rolls his eyes a little, but he’s smiling. He looks at Steve questioningly. Steve obligingly leans over the table. Bucky grins and meets him halfway, stretching out a hand to cup Steve’s chin. It’s a soft kiss, and Bucky’s still smiling, which makes Steve smile, too.

“Got it!” Lacey cries triumphantly, raising her phone. “We’re totally submitting you two to the cutest couple Christmas contest.”

Bucky looks nonplussed. “Cutest couple Christmas contest?” He echoes.

“You’re definitely gonna win,” Chad says confidently.

“You really shouldn’t take pictures of people without their consent,” Steve tells them.

“Oh.” Lacey shrinks a little and Steve feels kind of bad.

“I mean, _we_ don’t mind,” he clarifies. “But if one of us wasn’t out or something, it could turn out badly, you know?”

“Oh, yeah,” she agrees, nodding furiously. “I won’t do it anymore.”

“But we can still be the cutest couple.” Bucky sounds longsuffering, but Steve can see his lips twitching.

“Yeah, totally!” Chad says. “You get your picture in the campus newspaper if you win.”

“Hey, now there’s a prize,” Bucky says. Steve gives him a look. Chad can’t tell Bucky’s being sarcastic, but Steve can.

“We’re gonna go submit this right now,” Lacey sees. “See you later!”

Bucky snorts after they leave. “Cutest couple Christmas contest.”

“If only I’d been wearing my glasses,” Steve pretends to mourn. “We’d have no competition at all.”

“We don’t have competition anyway!” Bucky sounds slightly offended and it makes Steve laugh at him.

“Steve,” Bailey says breathlessly, running up to their table. “Hi! My drawing professor is over at the circulation desk right now. Do you want to come meet him?”

Steve’s stomach drops a little. “Uh, I don’t know. I’m helping Bucky study.”

Bailey looks at him like he’s acting weird, and it doesn’t help his nerves. “Well, he can probably handle five minutes without you.”

Steve bites his lip. Bucky hooks his ankle around Steve’s to get Steve to look up. Bucky furrows his eyebrows. _What’s wrong?_ He signs.

Steve shrugs. _Don’t know._

Bucky gives him a look and signs _bullshit_. Gabe or Clint must have taught him that, because Steve sure didn’t.

 _Don’t know if I should meet him_ , Steve relents.

Bucky tilts his head as examines Steve’s face. _I think you should. But you don’t have to._

“Hey, what are you guys saying?” Bailey complains.

“We’re not saying anything,” Bucky points out snottily. “That’s sort of the point.”

Bailey rolls her eyes. “Steve, he _really_ wants to meet you and he’s _so_ cool. Please?” She gives Steve puppy eyes and he scoffs a little. How is he supposed to say no? That’s unfair. He knows Bailey’s been having a hard time lately, and he’s glad she’s excited about something. He sighs loudly.

“Okay,” he says. He stands up so he can follow Bailey over to the circulation desk. Bucky grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze just before he walks off.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassures Steve. Steve squeezes back and smiles. Bailey leads him over to a man with gray hair and glasses, speaking to the girl at the circulation desk in a kind voice.

“No, it’s not a problem,” he’s promising her. “It’s an easy mistake.”

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Erskine,” she says earnestly. “I promise I’ll find the book.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” Dr. Erskine says. “I can wait a few more days. I have all of Christmas break. Maybe this will make me do my grading, yes?” He smiles at the poor girl, who looks near tears, and then turns and catches sight of Steve and Bailey.

“Ms. Barnes,” he greets her. “Hello there. My most promising intro drawing student.”

Bailey flushes happily. “Hi, Dr. Erskine,” she says. “This is my brother-in-law, Steve. The one who drew the comic.”

Dr. Erskine’s eyebrows go up. “Hello, Steven,” he says, shaking Steve’s hand. “I am very impressed with your work. Ms. Barnes tells me you graduated before I had the pleasure of getting you in class.”

Steve’s a little caught off-balance. It’s certainly nice to get his work complimented, and Bailey told him her professor liked it, but Steve wasn’t expecting Dr. Erskine to be so kind. Steve immediately feels at ease with him.

“Thank you,” he says. “Yeah, I graduated about three years ago.”

“It is my loss,” Dr. Erskine says. “I would have enjoyed having you as a pupil.”

Steve thinks about some of the work he did for his senior showcase, all dark colors and moody charcoals, and cringes a little. Probably not.

“But I do have a criticism,” Dr. Erskine says. Steve feels his stomach clench. He didn’t ask for criticism. He’s not this guy’s student; he doesn’t have to be critiqued and berated. “Captain America wants to sock Adolph in the jaw. Well I tell him, get in line,” Dr. Erskine finishes, a twinkle in his eye. Steve laughs.

“Well, Cap may never get to sock Adolph,” he says ruefully. “I can’t figure out how to end the war. I don’t know how Cap’s going to beat Johann Schmidt.”

Dr. Erskine nods thoughtfully. “It is an important consideration.”

Steve scoffs a little. “It’s just a dumb comic I draw for fun.”  
  
“It’s not dumb,” Bailey pipes up. “You draw it for Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Dr. Erskine asks.

“My brother,” Bailey explains. “Steve’s husband. He puts the comics in Bucky’s lunch every day so he has something to smile about at school.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. “It’s still kinda dumb.”

Dr. Erskine shakes his head, looking serious. “People often ask me why I switched from science to art, you know. But that’s something they have in common—both have the ability to make people’s lives better. So they are not so different as they seem. You’re using art for exactly the best purpose, I think.”

Steve’s flush deepens. “I guess.”

“What is Captain America’s heart, I wonder?” Dr. Erskine asks. “What gets him to fight?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Steve points out.

“Yes, but there are many right things to do. Why is fighting the _best_ right thing to do?” Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks a few times. Dr. Erskine smiles kindly. “I think it is important for you to figure that out. It will help you figure out the ending. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have some final projects to grade.”

“Go easy on ‘em,” Bailey groans.

Dr. Erskine winks. “I have already graded yours. You have nothing to worry about.”

Bailey practically glows and Dr. Erskine gives them a last smile before walking off. Bailey turns to Steve, excited.

“Isn’t he just great?” She gushes.

“He is,” Steve agrees, brow wrinkled as he thinks over Dr. Erskine’s question. “I like him.”

“He’s my favorite professor. I’m going to take a class from him next semester, too. He had to give me special permission to sign up and I’m probably not actually good enough but he said he believed in me.”

Steve smiles at her. “Well, for what it’s worth, I believe in you, too. We can draw together sometime.”

Bailey flushes a little. “I’m not good enough to draw with you.”

“Bailey, don’t sell yourself short!” Steve scolds. “It’s all about practice.”

They can see Bucky again, tapping his pencil against his temple and frowning at his book. “Maybe over the summer we can take a trip to the cabin and you can help me draw the lake!” Bailey suggests brightly. Steve’s stomach clenches. He watches Bucky look up and catch sight of them and give them a cross-eyed funny face. Steve’s stomach hurts. Over the summer he won’t be drawing anything with Bailey.

“Yeah,” he lies. “We can do that.”

  
Steve’s heart is in his throat as he walks into the karaoke bar. His palms are sweating. Peggy’s in there. He hasn’t seen her in over a year. Did she get more beautiful? Did he get any better looking? He smoothes down his hair and squares his shoulders. He’s actually putting on some muscle thanks to Thor’s training. It helps that he’s sleeping better at night. He’s only had one minor cold this winter so far, a nice change from his usual perpetual state of congestion and snot in the winter.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“Cap!” He hears immediately. The lights are a bit dim, but it’s not too hard to find his friends, already going straight to work with a round of shots. And there, between Dugan and Natasha, is Peggy. Steve gulps. Her lipstick is perfect, as always, and her hair is longer, falling in soft curls down her back. He doesn’t try to stop the smile that splits his face when he sees her.

“Steve!” She calls, pushing back her chair. She envelopes him in a hug immediately. She’s wearing some new perfume or something, and it makes him cough a little. She draws back, concerned. “Oh, no, it’s this perfume, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Steve lies. “Maybe not.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Always the martyr.”

Steve laughs a little. “It’s so good to see you.”

She grins back at him. “It’s lovely to see you, as well.”

They stand there smiling at each other for a minute before Natasha clears her throat. “Um, let’s sit,” Steve suggests. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and sets it on the table, checking it as he does. Nothing. It’s eight o’clock; Bucky’s final should be ending any minute.

“Sarge almost done?” Morita asks, accurately guessing Steve’s thoughts. Steve nods.

“Should be. His test was supposed to be from six to eight, and he should be coming straight here. I told him if he’s not feeling up to it he doesn’t have to bother, but you know he won’t listen to me.”

Gabe huffs. “Are you kidding? You’re the only one he _will_ listen to.”

“Stubborn old ass,” Falsworth adds.

“You are older than him,” Dernier points out.

“It’s the principal of the thing,” Falsworth insists.

“Was he worried about this test?” Dugan asks.

Steve makes a face. “It was a bunch of short-answer questions.”

Sam winces. “Not exactly his favorite.”

“No, not really,” Steve agrees.

Riley reaches out to take a shot and Steve sees a glint of metal. “Hey!” He cries, grabbing Riley’s hand. “You did it?” He asks Sam.

Sam laughs happily while the table erupts in cheers. “Can we get another round?” Natasha asks the waiter. “Our friends just got engaged.”

“Congratulations,” the waiter says.

“How ‘bout a round on the house?” Sam tries.

The waiter smiles. “How ‘bout a round on the groom-to-be?”

Sam and Riley look at each other. “Go ahead,” Sam teases.

“Hm, I thought _you_ were the groom,” Riley says.

“Well, this joke won’t get old at all,” Natasha says dryly.

“When are you getting married?” Clint asks, signing as he speaks. “I like the wings.”

“We’re thinking in April,” Riley says. “Our anniversary’s in April.”

“I thought your anniversary was in October,” Clint says.

“We got together in October,” Sam says. “Anniversary of us not dying together’s in April.”

“A perfect day to get married,” Dugan agrees. “Didn’t die once, don’t die again.”

The waiter brings the next round and everyone picks up a glass. Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve. “I’m just toasting,” Steve says. “I’m not going to drink it.”

“I’ll drink yours,” Falsworth offers.

“Oh, like you could handle it,” Peggy counters. “You’re much too posh for tequila.”

“You’re calling _me_ posh?” Falsworth demands. “You and me, Catholic schoolgirl. I’ll drink you under this table.”

“You probably won’t,” Natasha says in a sing-song voice. She and Peggy share a laugh and Steve feels slightly overwhelmed. It’s so strange for Peggy to be here, back with them, and meeting the Commandos. Nice, but strange.

Steve’s phone lights up. He can’t hear it buzz over the din in the bar. He snatches it up and reads Bucky’s text.

_Done. On my way. Bailey’s coming too_

_How’d it go?_ Steve asks.

_:/_

_What does that mean?_

_I don’t know. Bad probably._

Steve frowns. He expected Bucky would probably not be in the highest of spirits, but he was hoping he’d be at least a little more confident. They’d studied so hard.

 _I hope it went better than you think_ , Steve says. _But I’ll buy you a cookie either way._

_My hero._

“Bucky’s on his way,” Steve announces. “Bailey’s coming, too.”

“Can she get in here?” Clint asks. “Isn’t she like twelve?”

Steve laughs. “She’s in college, Clint.”

Clint shrugs. “Yeah, so? Twelve. Same age as Kate.”

“She can get in, but they’ll stamp her hand for under 21,” Sam fills them in.

“Is he feeling alright?” Gabe asks.

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too happy, but he’s still coming, so hopefully it’s not too bad.”

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Peggy says. Steve tries not to flinch at the idea. It’s _good_ they’re meeting. They’re both really important people in his life.

“Alright,” Riley says conspiratorially. “What song should Natasha and I sing?”

Sam groans. “You two are _not_ good at karaoke.”

Riley pretends to be offended. “My own fiancé? Twist the knife in my back, dear.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I tell you the truth because I love you.”

“You’re just jealous because we kick your ass at karaoke,” Natasha says.

“I have to believe Red here’s good at everything she does,” Morita says. “Sorry, Wilson.”

“She’s not good at _everything_ ,” Clint confides. Natasha narrows her eyes and his eyes widen a little. “I take it back.”

It doesn’t take long before Bucky and Bailey show up. Steve pops up out of his chair when he sees Bucky and meets him halfway between the door and the three tables their group has commandeered.

“Hi,” he says, grabbing onto Bucky’s arms. “You okay?”

Bucky doesn’t lean in for a kiss, like he’d usually do to greet Steve in front of other people. He shrugs. “We’ll see when grades come out, I guess.”

Steve shakes his head. “I want to know if you’re _okay_ , Bucky. Right now, are you okay?”

Bucky blows out a breath. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t have to always be worrying about me.”

Bailey purses her lips and shakes her head a little at Steve. Bucky must not be in a very good mood. Like he couldn't already tell.

“Do you want to go home?” Steve asks.

“Oh, just walk out on all our friends?” Bucky shoots back. “Not meet Peggy?”

Steve swallows and half-turns back to their table. Peggy. “Everyone would understand,” he presses on stubbornly.

“I’m sick of everyone having to understand,” Bucky mutters. Steve can barely hear him. Karaoke’s getting started and the noise level is rising steadily. He tips his good ear toward Bucky subtly, but Bucky notices.

 _Sorry,_ he signs. _Let’s sit._

Steve sighs a little but decides not to push. Bucky’s not a child. He knows if he needs a break, and if he says he doesn’t, Steve’s not going to keep second-guessing him. That’s the promise they made each other.

Steve leads the way back to the table. “Bucky and Bailey, this is Peggy. Peggy, Bucky and his sister, Bailey.”

“Bailey’s got quite the hammer fist,” Natasha says. Peggy gives her an appreciative look.

“Glad to hear it,” she says. “Is Natasha teaching you self-defense?”

“She’s teaching me and both my sisters,” Bailey confirms. “I love it.”

“There’s nothing quite like the feeling of power that comes from knowing you could kick someone’s arse if you need, is there?” Peggy asks.

“Or kill them,” Natasha says nonchalantly.

“Truly terrifying,” Falsworth mutters.

Gabe grins. “Personally, I like a woman who could kick my ass.”

Bailey giggles a little and Bucky rolls his eyes. “ _I’m_ gonna kick your ass in a minute,” he tells Gabe.

“Hello, Bucky,” Peggy says, eyes sparkling.

“Hey there, Peggy,” Bucky responds.

“Bought any popsicles lately?”

Bucky huffs a little laugh. “Nah, I just bring in icicles for Steve to suck on.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Dugan asks.

Bucky gives Dugan a fake-shocked look. “Wow, Dugan, that was an awful big word!”

“Probably that word-a-day calendar we got up at the VA,” Sam teases.

“Helping in every way possible,” Riley says proudly. Dugan flips them off.

“Screw you all,” he says. “I need more liquor.”

Steve is torn. He keeps talking to Peggy, but he can’t help but notice Bucky’s unhappiness rolling off him in waves. He presses his knee against Bucky’s under the table, and Bucky moves his leg away. Steve frowns at him and Bucky hunches his shoulders, not looking at Steve.

“And now we’re going to hear from the Howling Commandos,” the karaoke announcer says. “Um, singing Highway to Hell.”

There’s a great deal of whooping and cheering as they get up. Bucky gives Dugan a pleading look. “Really?”

“It’s our specialty!” Dugan reminds him. His smile dims a little. “You don’t have to, Sarge. Honest.”

Bucky sighs a little and pushes back his chair. “Let’s do this.”

Dugan bellows, “Wahoo!” loud enough that even Steve and Clint cringe.

Their song is a ridiculous mess of drunken rambling; a smashing success in terms of karaoke. They’re mostly just energetic and loud. Steve shakes his head, laughing at them all.

“They’re certainly a high-spirited group,” Peggy says, grinning. “Do you have fun with them?”

“They’re great,” Steve assures her. “They’re rowdy, but they’re good guys, too. They look out for each other.”

“Good,” she says, her smile going softer. “I’m glad.”

Steve blushes a little under her gaze. “So, what meetings did you have?” He laughs as he watches Gabe launch himself into Bucky’s arms. Bucky pretends to stagger under his weight.

“Oh, just a job interview,” Peggy says nonchalantly, sipping her whiskey. Steve stares at her in shock as the song fades out and the crowd cheers.

“A job interview?” Steve echoes, dumbfounded. “Here?”

“Who had a job interview?” Morita asks as the Commandos come back to the table.

“Peggy did,” Natasha says, watching Steve’s reaction. Steve swallows.

“A job interview, huh?” Bucky says. “Well, how’d it go?”

“Rather well, thank you.”

Steve doesn’t know how to react. He’s happy. He’s ecstatic, really. He’s so ready for Peggy to move back. But…

But there’s a weird look on Bucky’s face at the news, and Steve can’t figure out what it means, and it distracts him.

“Well, get the lady another shot!” Dugan calls. Sam is giving Steve a worried look. Why is he worried? They should all be excited.

“That’s great,” Steve says brightly. “So you’d be—you’d move back? Here?”

Peggy laughs a little. “I can’t quite commute from London.”

Bailey is watching them with increasingly narrowed eyes. “So how do you know Steve?” She asks, voice a little cold. Bucky gives her a look.

“We’re old friends,” Peggy says, giving Bailey a smile she can’t help but begrudgingly return. “I used to live here in Brooklyn and Steve showed me all the best places to shop.”

“The dog bodega,” Clint says. “Love that place.”

“Have you taken your dog there yet?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t have a dog,” Clint answers automatically.

“No,” Natasha answers for him. “He’s afraid someone will steal the dog.”

“Here’s another round for you guys,” the waiter says, coming back to their table. Bucky helps him gather up some of the empty shot glasses so he has room to put the full ones on the table. The waiter smiles at Bucky.

“Well, thank you,” he says, almost smirking, and Steve feels a flush rise up his neck.

“No problem,” Bucky tells him smiling right back at him. Steve wants to scoff. Oh, _now_ Bucky smiles?

“We’ve got a real treat up next!” The emcee announces. “Our very own Angie Martinelli, here on her night off to show us how karaoke is supposed to sound!”

A beautiful girl with curled dark hair winks at the emcee. “I’ll slip you your tip later,” she jokes. She starts to sing something slow and sad.

“Can we dance?” Peggy asks Steve.

“I do owe you,” Steve says, a little chagrined. Peggy laughs.

“You do.” She looks at Bucky. “You don’t mind, do you, if I steal him away for just a bit?”

Bucky looks surprised. “Oh, uh, no. Be my guest.”

They head to the floor. Bucky raises his eyebrows when Steve glances back over his shoulder. Bailey has her arms crossed over her chest and Natasha’s lips are pursed. Bucky looks over to make sure no one else is looking and flashes Steve a thumb’s up. It’s goofy; it should make Steve laugh. He doesn’t know why it makes his chest hurt.

He still doesn’t know how to dance, not really. Bucky took charge at the wedding. But Steve can mostly stumble his way through, and Peggy pretty much leads them both, anyway.

“I’ve missed you,” Peggy murmurs right into his ear so he can actually hear. Steve has to smile at that, blushing a little.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he tells her. He glances over her shoulder at their table. The waiter’s back. He’s standing way too close to Bucky’s chair. Steve scowls. Bucky doesn’t like being trapped in his chair, and with the waiter there, he doesn’t have a clear path out. Then the waiter laughs and Steve rolls his eyes.

Bucky lays a hand on the waiter’s arm. Steve huffs. Is Bucky flirting? He is, technically, married, and his technical husband is present. He’s just going to flirt like that?

They rotate so Steve’s back is to the table again and he tries to put it out of his mind. “What are your plans tomorrow?” He asks Peggy.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “I thought perhaps we’d spend some time together.”

“Yes, definitely,” Steve says quickly. “Um, alone, maybe?” He’s blushing as he asks. He doesn’t mean it to sound like a proposition, but it kind of does anyway. Peggy laughs a little.

“Yes, I think that would be acceptable.” She’s teasing him a little, slightly mocking, and it makes Steve relax a bit. He doesn’t need to be so wound up. It’s Peggy.

The song ends and they hold onto each other a beat longer. “Thank you,” Peggy says.

“Thank you,” Steve counters. They head back to the table and Bucky isn’t there. “Where’d Bucky go?” Steve asks.

“Bathroom?” Sam suggests after Bailey just shrugs. Steve looks around the room. He hopes Bucky isn’t off in some corner with that waiter.

The next song ends and Bucky still isn’t back. Steve’s starting to get a little worried. His coat is still on the back of his chair, so if he went outside he’ll be freezing. Steve stands up and everyone looks at him, all in varying stages of focus thanks to a night of drinks.

“I’m going to look for Bucky,” he explains.

“There he is!” Clint says, pointing to the stage. He knocks over a shot glass, thankfully empty. “Damn.”

“Is he gonna sing you a song, Cap?” Morita asks.

“Gross,” Gabe opines. “Sappy love.”

REO Speedwagon starts up and everyone groans. “Really, Sarge?” Dugan says.

“I like this song,” Dernier defends Bucky’s choice.

“You’ve heard this song?” Falsworth asks incredulously.

“Everyone has,” Dernier points out.

“But you haven’t heard, like, any song,” Riley says. “You’d never even heard Thriller until Halloween.”

Steve’s about one second away from shushing them. “Bucky’s singing,” he reminds them. Everyone looks at him funny. “What?” He asks.

“It’s karaoke, Steve, not the Apollo,” Natasha says. “It doesn’t really matter if we don’t pay attention.”

Peggy laughs at how disgruntled Steve must look. He certainly feels a bit disgruntled. His irritation gives way to worry, however, when it becomes obvious Bucky isn’t exactly in the best state at the moment.

“What started out as friendship has grown stronger,” Bucky sings, eyes closed, and he’s swaying a little in a way that has nothing to do with the music. He’s slurring, and it takes Steve a second to realize what’s going on.

“Has he been _drinking_?” He asks, completely blown away.

“I didn’t see him drink anything,” Natasha says.

“Shit,” Sam mutters. “He can’t be drinking on his meds.”

“I know that,” Steve all but snaps. He shakes his head. “Sorry.” Sam waves it off.

“Oh, boy,” Dugan murmurs. Bucky trips over his own feet, and he’s getting pretty emotional about the song.

“I’m getting closer than I ever thought I miiiiiiight!” He cries into the microphone. “And I can’t fight this feeling anymore!” He loses the thread of the song. “I can’t! Okay? I can’t do it anymore.”

Steve’s up and out of his chair before he remembers planning to get up. He reaches the stage and beckons at Bucky. “Come on, Buck,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Home?” Bucky says. “Yeah, home, sure. No one wants me out in public.”

“Bucky, come here,” Steve insists. Bucky puts the microphone back in its stand and shrugs.

“Okay, if you want me to.” He obediently follows Steve back to their table, where Steve gathers up their coats.

“We’re gonna go,” Steve says. “Peggy, I’ll call you tomorrow. Bailey, you okay to get home?” Everyone looks a little embarrassed and a lot worried. Bailey nods, biting her lip, and Natasha stretches out a hand to put on her shoulder.

“Nah, let’s stay,” Bucky argues. “That waiter likes me. Thinks I’m pretty. Gave me free drinks.”

“How much did you drink?” Steve asks, irritated. “You know you’re getting brain surgery in _two days_? Do you want to die on the table?”

He shouldn’t have said that, especially not with everyone else there. Bailey’s blinking away tears and Dugan sucks in a little breath.

“Steve,” Sam cautions.

“Oh, like you even care,” Bucky shoots back. That stops Steve in his tracks.

“Of course I care,” he chokes out, shocked Bucky would even say it.

“Sure, for as long as you have to.” The bitterness in Bucky’s voice turns Steve’s stomach.

“Bucky,” Steve warns. He can't talk like that with the Commandos and Bailey there.

“Did you guys know?” Bucky asks, turning to the table. “Steve’s only here because my parents are _paying_ him to be married to me. How pathetic is that? I can't get anyone for real.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s arm and pulls. “Bucky, _now_ ,” he orders.

“Yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Bucky grumbles following him out. Steve doesn’t look at the Commandos or Bailey. Maybe they didn’t hear. Maybe it was too loud. Maybe…

He gets Bucky into a cab, almost shaking. He wasn’t supposed to lose them until the summer. It’s only December. He’s supposed to get half a year of them liking him, being his friends, and now Bucky let the cat out of the bag and they’ll hate him.

“I don’t feel good,” Bucky moans.

“Gee, I wonder why,” Steve mutters darkly.

“Hey, man, you can’t throw up in here,” the driver says.

“He’s not gonna throw up,” Steve says. “Right?” He asks Bucky sternly.

“I’m not gonna throw up,” Bucky confirms. “What am I, sixteen?”

“Bucky, why were you drinking?” Steve asks, frustrated. “You know you’re not supposed to.”

“Fuck what I’m supposed to,” Bucky says petulantly. “A cute guy was giving me free drinks, okay? I just wanted to enjoy it.”

Steve ignores the little barb he feels about the waiter buying Bucky drinks. He wasn’t even that cute, really.

“You seem like you’re really enjoying yourself alright,” Steve says sarcastically. Bucky drops his head to his hands.

“It could be the last time I ever get the chance,” Bucky points out, mumbling through his shaking hands. “I might die.”

Steve takes a hitched breath at that. “You’re not gonna die,” he says sharply. “I can’t be mad at you if you die and I’m holding onto this to be pissed about after the surgery.”

“Pissed why?”

“Because it was reckless!” Steve bursts out, losing his cool a little. “Even if you didn’t have surgery coming up, you know you’re not supposed to mix your meds with alcohol. You can’t just play around with this kind of stuff, Bucky, it’s dangerous! You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m tired of this conversation,” Bucky announces loudly. “I feel sick.”

Steve fumes all the way home. When they get to their building, the cab driver looks halfway between sympathetic and relieved to see the back of them. Getting Bucky up the stairs is certainly a feat, especially since he seems to be actively working against Steve.

“Come on,” Steve pants. “Two more stairs.”

Bucky glowers and doesn’t even respond. It irritates Steve more than it should. He’s trying to help and Bucky’s just being angry and sullen. Finally, they get inside and Steve unceremoniously shoves Bucky onto the bed. He helps Bucky get his shoes and coat off, then says shortly,

“You can get your pants off yourself.”

He turns to go into the kitchen to get some water; Bucky needs water even more than anyone else would, because Steve wants to flush the alcohol out of him sooner. He figures he should make Bucky some eggs and toast, too, to mop it up out of his stomach.

“Steve,” Bucky says when Steve is in the doorway. “Please don’t leave.”

Steve pauses and turns around. “What?”

“Please, Stevie, please stay,” Bucky begs. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“Buck—”

“If I sleep alone it’s so bad. I don’t know where I am if I’m alone. But if you’re here, I’m not there. I was always alone there.”

It only takes Steve about two seconds to make sense of what Bucky’s saying, and it makes his shoulders slump. Bucky looks desperate and sad and young, and it breaks Steve’s heart a little. He walks over to the bed and tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear.

“I’m just getting you some food and water, okay? I’m coming back.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and Steve has to squeeze his shoulder to make himself feel better. He thinks it helps Bucky, too.

“I promise, Buck,” Steve says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky leans back against the pillows. “For now,” he points out, eyes closed. Steve freezes at those words. He shakes his head a little and heads to the kitchen. His hands are trembling. He doesn’t need the reminder. He’s all too aware of the deadlines coming straight for them.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS

Steve wakes up alone. His immediate reaction is annoyance. He's tired of waking up alone. What's the point of sharing a bed if you still wake up by yourself?

But then he remembers last night, and he has a good idea of why Bucky would slink out early. He must be embarrassed about what happened at the bar, not to mention the fact that he cried into Steve's chest for nearly half an hour before finally falling asleep. Steve should have guessed Bucky would be a morose drunk.

Steve checks his phone. Text from Natasha asking if everything's all right and a text from Sam telling him to call if he needs anything. Nothing from Bucky. Steve rubs his eyes and pulls himself out of bed. Bucky's not in the living room or the kitchen. Now Steve's annoyance grows. He's going to get drunk last night and then just disappear? After the stupid stunt he pulled, not to mention giving up their secret?

What if he's hurt? What if the alcohol reacted badly with his meds and he's passed out somewhere on the side of the road during his run?

That's not a good thought. Steve shakes his head. Bucky was mostly fine when Steve finally fell asleep last night. He was drooling and snoring, anyway, and that's normal.  
  
Steve's phone buzzes and he lunges for it. It's not Bucky though; it's Peggy.

_Have any plans for the day?_

_I'm going to kick my husband's ass_ , Steve thinks. He holds off responding just yet, instead tapping out _where are you_ to Bucky.

He eats a bowl of cereal while he waits. He wrinkles his nose. It's stale. Bucky usually leaves him eggs or a bagel or even the special low-carb pancakes he found a recipe for. Steve hasn't eaten cereal in weeks. This same box, apparently.

 _On my way home_ , Bucky finally responds. Steve stops himself from asking where he'd been. He can ask Bucky in person in a few minutes.

Or not.

Steve's not sure where they stand. Sure, Bucky had asked him to stay, but he'd also made it pretty clear he doesn't see Steve as his friend. He thinks Steve is only there for the money. It stings.

Steve chews his soggy Cheerios morosely. How many times has he told Bucky he's his best friend? Why doesn't Bucky believe him?

 _Probably because you called him crazy_ , his brain reminds him. He scowls at his cereal. He's not hungry anymore.

The door opens and Steve looks up. He and Bucky stare at each other for a moment, Bucky's loose strands of hair curling with sweat where they've escaped his ponytail.

"Hi," Steve says cautiously. Bucky gives him a little smile. He's holding a bouquet of flowers and for one crazy second Steve's heart jumps, thinking they're for him.

"What are those?" He asks.

"Uh, flowers." Bucky smirks a little, that teasing look so familiar it makes Steve's heart ache a little.

"Who are they for?" Steve asks.

"For...you." Bucky's forehead wrinkles a little. "I was running on campus and there's a floral design class or something giving them away for free," he adds quickly. Steve's stomach is twisting strangely. Bucky brought him flowers? Sure, he didn't go out of his way and buy them, but still. But then Steve realizes they're probably not for him.

"For me to give to Peggy?" He clarifies. Bucky's the kind of guy who'd make sure Steve had flowers to take his date.

Bucky swallows and lays the bouquet on the counter. "Yeah," he says quietly. "You got a date with her tonight, right?"

"I guess," Steve says, looking at the flowers. They seem pretty random—he’s not sure what student thought up the lily-hibiscus-rose-carnation combination—and he has no idea where a floral design class would get hibiscus flowers in New York in December.

"Yeah, give her the flowers," Bucky says, heading toward the bathroom. "Sorry for being an asshole last night."

"Are we going to talk about how dangerous that was or the fact that you told the Commandos and Bailey?" Steve asks.

Bucky stops and sighs. “What, you want to hear about Bailey telling Beth and the two of them being pissed at me and my parents? You want to hear about Gabe chewing me out for half our run today?”

Steve bites his lip. What he wants to hear is how they feel about _him_ , but that seems selfish. Bucky shakes his head and keeps walking.

"Well, thanks anyway," Steve calls at his retreating back. He can't help but feel a tiny twinge of disappointment. He realizes, with a shake of his head at himself, that he sort of wishes Bucky _did_ buy the flowers just for him.

  
Steve and Peggy get lunch at Steve's favorite little diner, and the first thing the waitress asks is,

"Oh, where's Bucky?"

Steve fights a cringe. It's not that he isn't glad she remembers Bucky and cares where he is; he likes that. But he doesn't know if it's a great idea to bring up his husband while he's here with Peggy.

"He's having lunch with his nephew," Steve says. Bucky had barely even said goodbye when he'd left. Not that Steve's still bothered by it.

"Do you two come here often?" Peggy asks. Steve shrugs.

"Well, you know, it's nice because I know there won't be dairy if I order off the vegan menu. So. Yeah, I guess. When we go out. For Sunday breakfast, usually, if we don't go to his parents' house."

Peggy nods thoughtfully. "So what should I have?" She asks.

Steve smiles at how seriously she asks the question. He's happy she's here, even with the craziness going on.

"Well, I like the chocolate chip pancakes. Bucky's tried almost everything on the menu and he says the veggie omelet is the best."

"The best veggie omelet or the best thing on the menu?" Peggy asks.

Steve laughs. "I don't know. When Bucky likes anything he says it's the best. Half the stuff on the menu is the best."

Steve ends up getting the veggie omelet, chocolate chip pancakes notwithstanding, and Peggy opts for French toast.

"So, a job interview?" Steve asks while they wait. Peggy shrugs, smiling a bit.

"Well, it's quite a significant pay raise. And no one would ask me to get their lunch even though we're in the same position. And I'd be working with Natasha."

"You interviewed with Stark?" Steve blurts. Peggy gives him a look.

"I know how you feel about Stark," she starts cautiously.

"No, he's great!" Steve says quickly. "Well, he's not a warmonger, anyway."

"You...approve?" Peggy asks incredulously.

Steve blushes a little. "Well, you know. People can change."

She looks a little suspicious, but she lefts it go. "Well, anyway, I do already have a flat here."

Steve knows that. When she'd left, she'd wanted him to live there. But he couldn't afford to pay as much as he should've for such a nice place, and he wasn't willing to let Peggy shoulder the burden and let him pay less. _Maybe she should've thought up a fake marriage contract_ , Steve thinks wryly.

"But I thought you liked your job," Steve points out. "You're doing important work."

Peggy sighs a little. "I am doing important work. But not as much as I'd thought I would. And..." She gives him a self-deprecating smile. "I guess I'm not selfless enough to keep doing a job I'm not appreciated for."

She looks discouraged and upset and Steve reaches out to cover her hands with his.

"If they don't appreciate you, they must be the biggest idiots on the planet," he declares loyally. Peggy smiles at him and this time it's real.

"Thank you," she murmurs. Steve becomes aware of the way he's holding onto her hands. He swallows and pulls his hands away slowly. Peggy smirks a little, probably knowing he doesn't know how to act in situations like this.

They chat idly while they eat, nothing consequential, the way they used to when they saw each other every day.

"Do you want to meet the girl I found to share the flat with me?" Peggy asks. "You might recognize her. She's at work now but she'll be back in a few hours."

"Sure," Steve says with a shrug. "I could use more rich friends."

Peggy laughs. "She's not rich."

"Well, I guess I could use more friends, period."

"Couldn't we all," Peggy agrees.

Steve glances at his phone, but he doesn't have any messages. He sighs internally. He doesn't know how the Commandos and Bailey are taking the big reveal. He doesn't know if Bucky's okay or if he's freaking out about tomorrow.

"Everything alright?" Peggy asks lightly.

"I'm just worried about Bucky," Steve admits. "His surgery's tomorrow and he doesn't do so well with medical stuff. And his ma..." He shrugs. Peggy's looking at him kind of strangely when he looks up, but she doesn't say anything. "Plus, uh, you know. Last night, what Bucky was saying."

"The boys didn't know?" Peggy asks sympathetically.

"No, and I'm worried they—" He stops. He doesn't say what he's thinking, that they'll stop being his friends now that they know. "Bailey didn't know either."

"That was a bit obvious," Peggy says softly. "She was...upset."

Steve hangs his head. "Did any of them say anything?"

Now Peggy looks uncomfortable, and Steve knows that means yes and that the things they said weren't good. He blinks hard, clenching his jaw. Well, he knew he'd lose them eventually. He didn't think it would be so soon. Probably better this way, actually. More time would just mean he'd get even more attached.

"They'll come around," Peggy says. Steve laughs bitterly.

"What's the point?" He asks. "In six months we would've gotten our divorce and they'd hate me anyway."

"But if they know the situation maybe they'll understand," Peggy points out.

Steve thinks of the way Dugan told him he's good for Bucky and the way the Commandos' eyes all shone with happiness and pride at the wedding. He thinks of Dugan's joking comment about killing Steve and how protective they all are of one another.

"I don't think so," he mumbles.

  
The afternoon slips by with Steve in a haze. He has to work on Winifred's present. Christmas is coming up faster than he realized. He still hasn't gotten anything for Bucky, either, and he has no idea what he's going to do about that. Does he even need to bother at this point? He feels so off-balance with Bucky right now.

But he already promised Winifred he'd finish the painting, and he's not going to renege on that. It's really starting to come together, he thinks. He needs to finish it today, so he doesn't stress about it during the surgery or Bucky's recovery.

Will Bucky even want Steve around while he's recovering?

Steve puts his paintbrush down and closes his eyes, breathing deep for a second. Bucky asked him to be there. He's hanging onto that.

He puts the final touch on the painting an hour before he's going over to Peggy's. He stands back and looks at it critically. It's more of a mural, really, and it's a little bigger than he'd originally planned, but Winifred will love it, he thinks.

It's kind of a timeline of the Barnes family, starting with George and Winifred's wedding picture and moving through births and vacations and graduations, six smiling faces throughout it all, with the addition of Mark and the kids toward the end.

Steve knows what his painting is going to hang in place of. Bucky has medals and accolades and a plaque, and he'd come home from the hospital, taken one look at the display, and insisted his parents take it down. Steve saw it all in the basement, carefully protected and covered and tucked away in a box, and his heart had hurt.

Maybe that's why Bucky is a little more detailed in every scene of the painting than anyone else. Maybe it's just because Steve's looked at his face more than anyone else's.

He washes up his brushes hurriedly. He needs to take a shower before he goes to Peggy's. He doesn't know if anything is going to happen between him and Peggy, but he knows he doesn't want to smell like turpentine if it does, whatever Bucky said a few weeks ago about almost liking the smell because it means Steve's been painting.

  
Steve knocks on Peggy's door. He doesn't feel nervous or even very anticipatory. He mostly feels tired. Working nonstop through the afternoon always saps him of energy.

"Hiya," the dark-haired girl who opens the door says. She looks sort of familiar. "You must be Steve."

"Uh, yeah," Steve agrees. "I am." He realizes where he knows her from. "You sang karaoke last night, didn't you?"

"Sure did," she says, somewhere between proud and sheepish, stepping back to let him in the door. "Every Friday night. I know I won't actually get discovered singing 80s ballads in a dive bar, but at least it's a crowd."

"You want to be a singer?" Steve asks as he shrugs off his backpack and hangs up his coat.

"Actress, actually." She sticks out her hand. "Angie Martinelli."

Steve shakes it. "Steve Rogers. You're gonna be renting from Peggy?"

"If you can call it renting." She makes a face. "English won't let me pay my fair share. I'm grateful and all, but it can make a girl feel a bit useless."

Steve laughs a little. "Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. Well, not the girl part, obviously. Or maybe not obviously. But." He snaps his mouth shut. Angie throws back her head and laughs.

"Oh boy, she was not kidding about you."

Steve feels his face heat up and he does his best to keep his cool.

"Good things, I hope?" He tries to joke.

Angie winks at him and doesn't respond as Peggy comes out of her room.

"Hello, Steve," Peggy says brightly. "You met Angie, I see."

"We're best pals now," Angie agrees. "I gotta get going. I got an audition. See you later." She winks again and Steve looks away, a little confused. "Hey, look," Angie says, pointing up just before she shuts the door. "Mistletoe."

"What's with all the fucking mistletoe?" Steve mutters.

Peggy laughs at him and he feels clumsy and tongue-tied again. He leans forward and so does Peggy. His heart's hammering away. He's not sure he pictured mistletoe being the reason for their first kiss.

Their lips meet. Her lips are smoother than Bucky's, a little waxy from her lipstick. She opens her mouth and Steve inhales sharply. She puts her hand on his waist. Such a small hand, so much smaller than Bucky's. Bucky's hand takes up most of Steve's hip.

Steve is angry at himself. He should be losing himself in this kiss—it's what we wanted for so long. But here he is getting it and...he can't stop thinking.

He pulls back and Peggy sighs, smiling sadly. "Yes, I thought so."

"I..." Steve doesn't have anything else to say.

"You're in love with him," she says softly.

All Steve's words stick in his throat. He knows from the way his stomach drops and his eyes burn that she's right. Of course she's right. He just kissed the girl he pined over for almost two years and all he thought about was Bucky.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Peggy's eyes are the barest hint shiny, and it makes him feel like shit. "We never promised each other anything," she reminds him. "Except a dance. And we got that."

"But I..." He shrugs. He has a lump in his throat and his palms are sweating. He's hurt Peggy, and he's in love with Bucky.

"It's alright, Steve," she murmurs. "We didn't get our timing right. The world moved on without us. We can't go back now."

Steve doesn't know if his legs will hold him much longer. He drops down onto the couch, the couch he spent so many movie nights on desperately wishing he was brave enough to scoot closer and hold her hand.  
  
"I didn't mean to lead you on," he promises. "I do love you."

She shakes her head and looks away. "And I love you," she says. "But you're not _in_ love with me."

"I'm sorry," he repeats miserably. His emotions are being torn in two directions. On the one hand, he's sick with shame for how he's hurt Peggy. He can see it in her face.

But on the other hand...he's in love with Bucky. He's reeling from it. He knew it all along, he realizes. He just didn't want to know. _He's in love with Bucky._

"So?" She asks, putting on a smile that looks tight and painful but not fake. "Are you going to go get him?"

"I don't think he's in love with me," Steve says in a small voice.

"Oh, Steve." Peggy rolls her eyes. "You're so dramatic! Of course he is. It only takes one look to see it. He positively dotes on you."

"He's like that with everyone," Steve protests, heart leaping.

Peggy gives him a stern look. "He was jealous and unhappy last night because you were dancing with me." Steve's stomach twists as he realizes she's right. How many times has he hurt Bucky by being in denial and not realizing his gestures were romantic? Steve thinks of the flowers. _Lily and hibiscus and rose and carnation_. The flowers they talked about all those months ago as they got ready for their wedding.

"He is in love with you," Peggy goes on. "It's completely obvious. And you're in love with him. And I'm sorry, but I'm not a good enough person that I'm going to sit here and convince you of that and pretend I'm perfectly okay."

Steve is horrified at himself for how unfair he's being to her. "Peggy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he rushes to say. "I didn't mean—"

"Of course not. And I will be, you know. Okay, that is. And I'll be happy for you, eventually. I already am, somewhat. I just need a little time to be completely happy for you."

"Peggy, you're so much better than I even deserve," Steve says. "You're such a good friend, I..."

"That's quite alright," she says briskly. He knows she doesn't like to seem upset by anything, even if he can tell she is. "And you know I don't agree that you don't deserve good things."  
  
Steve blows out a breath. "So...should we still watch a movie?"

Peggy laughs out loud at him. "Steven Grant Rogers, I've seen you avoid your feelings for him for almost eight months and now you've realized it, you think I'm going to let you sit here and watch a movie? Go!"

"But we had plans," Steve protests weakly. "It isn't fair of me to—"

"A lot of things aren't fair," she cuts him off, a little sharply. "It's not fair that I have to cheer you on while you go after someone else. But that's what's happening, Steve, and fighting against it would be futile and more upsetting. But I need some time either way. So please. Go."

Now Steve feels even more like an asshole. He can't seem to stop himself from hurting the people he cares about most.

He hesitates at the door. "If you want to see me sometime before you leave..." He lets the sentence hang.

"Yes, of course," she tells him. "I'll text you. And please do keep me updated on how the surgery goes tomorrow?"

"Sure," Steve agrees. He's dazed. She puts a hand on his cheek and he has to close his eyes for a second. He wouldn't say that he's not in love with Peggy at all. But he knows his feelings for Bucky are stronger. He spares one second to think about what would've happened if he hadn't met Bucky, if none if this marriage business had happened, but the shadowy image of him and Peggy together disintegrates with the pain of never knowing Bucky.

"Good luck," she tells him softly. "Though you won't need it."

"Thank you," Steve says, and he tries to put as much emotion as possible into the words. "And I _am_ sorry."

"It's alright, Steve," she promises. "It really is. I didn't much want to think about it, but I think I knew it was happening all along. Besides, there are worse fates than ending up sharing a flat with a beautiful woman who's already propositioned you more than once."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up and he blushes a little as he pictures that. "Angie?" He says. "Yeah, she seems like a firecracker."

"I do intent to find out," she says with a smirk. But Steve knows her well, and he can see the facade she's putting on and how it's crumbling just a little, so he steps out into the front porch.

"Bye," he says.

"Goodbye," she says, and he forces himself not to look back as he walks to the train.

  
The apartment is dark and empty when he gets home. His blood is buzzing. He's in love with Bucky. _He's in love with Bucky._

And Bucky's in love with _him_. The thought makes him shiver. He can't even focus on that or he'll have to sit down and put his head between his knees to draw a full breath.

He wishes all this didn't have to come at Peggy's expense. It isn't fair, and he hates the thought of Peggy being anything but completely, deliriously happy. His stomach is bubbling with guilt and nerves and happiness.

Steve tries to think of an adequate way to tell Bucky. He thinks he's been seriously screwing up the past few months—he can see now all the times Bucky was trying and Steve just brushed it off. He's inadvertently caused Bucky a lot of pain, and he hates that, too. So he wants to do something big, a grand gesture to show Bucky he's serious.

He could be waiting for Bucky in bed when he gets back. That wouldn't even be unusual, though. He could be naked. He shrinks away from the thought. Pale skin and protruding bones? No. Plus he's just...not ready for that. It's a lot to digest already.

He could bake something for Bucky. He throws that thought away almost as quickly as the naked one. It's not that he's bad at baking, necessarily. It's that he lacks patience and gets annoyed with the whole process.

He huffs, frustrated at himself. He's in love with Bucky and he can't find out a way to express it.

He opens his sketchbook and then smacks his palm against his forehead. Of course. The one thing he's good at--drawing. He flips through the pages, finding sketch after sketch of Bucky. How exactly did he not realize he was in love with Bucky earlier?

Even thinking it makes his stomach swoop. _He's in love with Bucky_.

He finds the pages of sketches he'd done that awful night when Bucky had sleepwalked. He'd wanted Bucky to see himself the way Steve sees him. Looking at them, knowing what he knows now, Steve's breath catches. He's been so in love with Bucky for so long. Every line in the picture bleeds emotion.

Steve checks his phone. Nothing from Bucky. It's nearly nine. Bucky has to be at Stark Tower at five am. He should be back and going to bed. Steve clicks on the TV. He can wait for Bucky.

  
Steve groans at his beeping alarm. He fell asleep with his contacts in and his eyes are sticky from it. He's already lost track of how many times he's hit snooze. Why does he even have an alarm set? It's Sunday. It's not like Bucky needs—

 _Bucky_.

Steve sits up too fast and his head swims. He curses as he looks at the time. It's already 5:00. The surgery's supposed to start at 6. He whacks his shin on the armchair as he rushes past and curses again.

Steve forces himself to slow down. He's not going to be any good to Bucky if he breaks a limb on the way there. He also has to take his meds and test his sugar and eat. He groans out loud at himself. Why does his body have to require so much maintenance right now?

He finally gets himself squared away and flies down the stairs. It's 5:30. It's going to take 20 minutes to get to the Tower. His mouth goes dry. He's not going to get to tell Bucky before he goes in for surgery. What if the 12% happens and Steve never told him? He's going to throw up. He ate too fast and his emotions aren't cooperating with that. He gets on the train and takes a deep breath. Bucky's going to be fine.

Steve jiggles his leg impatiently, inwardly screaming for the train to go faster. He looks at his phone. Nothing from Bucky. He opens the group text with Sam, Riley, Natasha, and Clint.

 _I'm in love with him_ , he types, head spinning.

 _We know_ , Clint responds first.

 _Nice of you to catch on_ , Natasha adds.

 _FATE!!!!!_ Riley gloats.

 _Is he in for his surgery right now?_ Sam asks.

 _I'm late_ , Steve reveals. _I don't know if I'll make it there before he goes in and I haven't told him._

 _Where are you?_ Natasha asks.

_The train._

_It'll be fine_ , Riley says. _Fate brought you together and you'll make it._

 _And if you don't_ , Sam says, and Steve can picture him rolling his eyes at all of Riley's fate talk, _you can tell him afterward because everything's going to be fine._

 _Do you want us to come down there?_ Natasha asks. Steve feels such a rush of gratitude for his friends. He knows they'd come if he asked.

 _I don't know,_ he says. _I don't know how many people are allowed in or anything like that._

 _Keep us updated_ , Sam requests.

 _He's lived through worse_ , Clint reminds him. _He's tough._

Steve locks the screen, throat tight. What if he doesn't make it in time? He thinks about texting Bucky. But what would he say? "Hey, sorry I was so behind, but I finally realized I'm in love with you." In a text? He can't do that. Besides, Bucky probably doesn't even have his phone since he's doing his pre-op stuff.

Maybe he should text Winifred. But he realizes now everyone probably saw what was going on. He's a little embarrassed. And he thinks Bucky's family might not be too happy with him. Bailey had to have told them about Peggy. Or maybe Bucky did himself.

Steve sprints from the train platform to Stark Tower. It's four blocks, and he's grateful yet again for the fact that his lungs are behaving so far this winter. He's also grateful for the boxing lessons with Thor that are helping him get in better shape.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers," Jarvis greets him at the back door. "You may take the elevator to the waiting room on floor six."

"Waiting room?" Steve pants, distressed. "They already started?"

"Mr. Barnes is being prepped," Jarvis confirms.

Steve slams at the button for floor six, heart sinking. He's too late. The elevator pings and Jarvis says,

"Go through the doors at the end of the hall."

Maybe Bucky gets to come out and say goodbye first. Steve runs down the hall, determined to find some way to tell Bucky. He doesn't care if he has to bust into the surgery room. Well, he probably won't do that. Dr. Cho will be performing _brain surgery_. He wouldn't want to startle her.

Steve shoves through the doors. Bucky's not there.

"Bucky?" Steve cries.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Barnes is already being prepped," a woman behind a desk tells him.

"He doesn't like being called sergeant," Steve corrects absently. He missed Bucky. His heart is in his throat. What if...

A door behind the desk opens and Dr. Cho walks out backward, wheeling a gurney.

Bucky.

"Bucky!" Steve calls. They're taking him into a different room.

"I'm sorry, there isn't time for him to stop and talk," Dr. Cho apologizes. "He's already been given anesthesia, so he's starting to go under. You can talk to him in a few hours."

"Bucky?" Steve repeats. His head is shaved and he looks pale and scared. He turns his head toward Steve.

"Is that Steve?" He slurs. They're still wheeling him toward the surgery room.

"He's fine," Stark assures Steve. "He's very high."

"It's me, Buck," Steve says, ignoring everyone else. He's almost leaning over the desk, trying to get closer to Bucky. Now that he knows how he feels, seeing Bucky but not being able to touch him is torture.

"I told you you didn't have to come," Bucky reminds him, sounding groggy.

"And I told you I was coming," Steve shoots back.

Bucky turns his face away from Steve. "Where's Peggy?"

That stings a little, though Steve knows he deserves it. Bucky's disappearing into the room and Steve's heart squeezes and his throat almost closes up. No. Bucky can't go in there without Steve telling him.

"Bucky, I love you!" Steve cries. “I _love_ you.” The door closes behind Dr. Banner, and Steve can't see or hear Bucky anymore.

He hears a chuckle behind him. "I'll make sure to tell the academy where to send your Oscar."

Steve whirls around and sees George sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper. Steve hadn't even noticed him before.

"That wasn't acting," he says blankly. "I love him. I'm _in_ love with him."

George blinks at him. "Oh." Then he goes back to his newspaper. "Well, still seemed a bit dramatic. You're already married, you know."

Steve gapes at him. "I never told him," he says. "And what if...what if that's it?"

"You'll have plenty of time to talk," George says, unconcerned. "Fred's going to be beside herself. She’s been waiting forever for this."

"But..." Steve gulps. He knows George knows the risks. "He could die."

"He'll be fine," George says.

"You can't know that," Steve protests.

"He'll be fine," George repeats firmly. Steve opens his mouth to say something else and notices, for the first time, George's newspaper rustling. His hands are trembling.  
  
How many times has George been through this? Sitting in a waiting room while Bucky's life hangs in the balance. Relying on other people to save Bucky, feeling helpless.

Steve sits in the chair beside George. "He'll be fine," he agrees quietly.

After a minute, George wordlessly hands him the arts and leisure section, and they read in silence.

An hour later, Dugan walks in. He stares at Steve, and Steve's stomach drops. Dugan doesn't look happy to see him.

"Rogers," Dugan says warily. "Thought you had a date."

Steve cringes. He knew the Commandos weren't going to be happy with him.

"I'm in love with him," he says. It's the only thing he can think of. Dugan's face is impassive for another moment, and then his face lights up.

"Yeah?" He asks excitedly. Steve smiles a little. It _is_ exciting.

"Yeah," he confirms. "I just didn't realize it until last night."

"Wahoo!" Dugan yells, clapping Steve on the back. The girl from earlier comes around a corner and shushes him with a dirty look.

"The other boys are coming in a bit," Dugan promises, taking the seat beside Steve. "But we didn't want to be overwhelming. And Morita still has a little trouble with hospitals. Not as bad as Sarge, you know, but not great."

Steve hands off his part of the paper to Dugan and pulls out his sketchbook. He glances at the clock. It's only been an hour. Bucky's surgery will be at least four hours, maybe longer. Steve hates sitting around waiting. He wishes there was something he could do, anything, to help Bucky.

Steve thinks of Captain America. If he had that body maybe he could have gone in and saved Bucky sooner. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost his arm. Maybe if he were stronger, better, he could do more now.

His heart stops. The rest of the comic just came to him. It was just like Dr. Erskine said: he figured out why Cap fights, and he figured out the ending.

It's depressing as hell. How often does the hero have to sacrifice himself, _really_ sacrifice himself? That part doesn’t bother him as much; it’s what has to come before Captain America’s sacrifice that makes him almost break his pencil. But Steve's a little superstitious, and he thinks maybe if he puts the sadness into the comic it won't happen in real life.

He's drawing when the rest of the family gets there. Becca and Mark got a sitter for the day so they could wait at the hospital for however long it takes.

As soon as she sees him, Becca gets furious.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She demands. "He's been in love with you for _months_ , _pining_ and _sad_ because you've got some girl, and then you bring her and shove her right in Bucky's _face_ and he shows up at my place freaking out and after all that you show your face _here_?"

Bailey's glaring at him too, and Beth looks upset but unsure.

"He's in love with him," George says mildly, not even looking up from his newspaper.

Becca opens her mouth, then pauses. "What?"

Steve nods. "I'm in love with him."

Mark is laughing. "We thought so," he says. "Don't you feel a little silly now?" He asks his wife.

Winifred is smiling so wide it looks almost painful. "Oh, Steve," she says, sounding a little choked up. "I'm so happy. _So_ happy. We wanted you to stay in our family so badly." She leans down and gives him a squeeze, and Steve gets a little choked up himself.

"Well, I haven't talked to Bucky yet," he says. Becca snorts inelegantly and Winifred laughs a little.

"You have nothing to worry about, honey," she promises. "He loves you so much."

It takes Steve's breath away. Bailey still looks suspicious.

"What about that girl?" She asks.

Everyone looks at him and his ears go a little red. "Well, uh. I couldn't focus on her because...I was thinking about Bucky."

Beth sighs a little. "I already thought you guys were really perfect," she says. "But now I sorta think you're even more perfect."

Winifred sits down on George's other side and Steve notices the way George grabs her hand immediately. She's smiling, but it's tremulous, and Steve's chest aches. She's so worried about Bucky.

The hours crawl by. Every once in a while, one of Stark's robots will roll out with a tray of coffee and snacks. Beth is utterly charmed by Dum-E.

"I want one," she sighs. "I'm allergic to dogs."

"Stark could probably build you a robot dog," Steve points out. "He's got a bunch of robots in there."

"Maybe he could teach me to build my own," Beth says, shaking Dum-E's claw. Steve smiles a little, seeing the Bucky in her, and says,

"I bet he would."

Finally, the door opens, and Steve finds himself springing to his feet. Dr. Cho comes out first, followed by Banner and Stark.

"Where's Bucky?" Steve blurts.

"They're getting him ready to move to a different room." Dr. Cho looks exhausted.

"But he's alright?" Becca asks.

"He is definitely alive," Stark says.

"It'll be a few hours before we know if everything worked right with the arm and know for sure his memory and everything is intact," Dr. Banner says. "But his vitals are all where they should be."

Winifred is crying and George isn't far behind. "When can we see him?" Bailey asks.

"He won't come out of the anesthesia for another forty-five minutes," Dr. Cho says. "Given his history, I think it would be wise for one or a few of you to be there when he does."

"Of course," George says.

"Thank you," Winifred chokes out. "Thank you for taking care of our boy."

Stark looks uncomfortable. "Well." He stops. He notices Beth holding Dum-E's claw. "Dum-E, she's too young for you. That's inappropriate."

Beth laughs. "I want one!" She tells Stark. "I want to make one of my own."

"Hopefully you make him smarter than this one," Stark says.

The nurses start wheeling Bucky out of the surgery room and Steve's heart climbs to his throat. He has bandages on one side of his head and he's only covered by a sheet from the waist down, showing off the heavy scarring on his shoulder and ribs. Winifred sucks in a breath.

"Oh, James," she murmurs.

Steve has to stop himself from climbing over the desk and crawling into the bed beside Bucky. "Are you going to cover him up?" He asks, sounding angrier than he’d meant to. He just can’t stand to see Bucky looking so…not there.

Stark gives him a look but the nurse speaks up first. "We will," he says patiently and gently. "We just wanted to hurry him out of the room with the equipment in it."

Steve nods, a little abashed. They know what they're doing.

"Why don't you go in the room with him?" Winifred suggests to Steve.

"No, you guys should go," Steve protests. "You and George, at least."

"You're his husband," Winifred points out. Steve shakes his head.

"You're his mother," he counters. "I guarantee he'll want you when he wakes up." Steve has some expertise in this arena.

Winifred comes closer and gives Steve a hug. She holds him tightly for a moment and then pulls back, sniffling. "We are so lucky to have you," she murmurs. Steve ducks his head, shrugging and blushing.

George and Winifred go in and sit with Bucky, but Steve can't sit down. He's pacing.

 _He's out of surgery_ , he texts his other friends. _But he's not awake yet_.

 _Do they know how it went?_ Natasha fires back immediately. Steve has the mental image of her keeping her phone close all day, and his heart swells.

_They think it went well. Won't know for sure until he wakes up and they can test._

_I'm so glad he's okay_ , Riley says.

 _Let us know as soon as we can come see him_ , Sam adds.

 _I'll bring pizza,_ Clint offers. _Hospital food sucks._

Steve laughs a little. Bucky's not actually in the hospital, and Steve has no idea if he'll even be allowed to eat pizza, but the offer means Clint cares.

Steve's hands are trembling a little. Bucky's okay, he reminds himself. He's alive and he'll wake up and surely he will remember Steve. Did he hear what Steve said before the surgery? Will he remember if it he did?

He jumps a little when a hand touches his arm. It's Becca.

"It's going to be fine," she says softly. "He loves you. He told me himself."

"He said there was someone else," Steve blurts. "I mean, he told you. I didn't mean to read his texts but I—well, I did. You were asking him something and he said there was someone else and he was only waiting for our fake marriage to end."

Becca's brow wrinkles in thought and then she rolls her eyes. "He was talking about _you_. You had someone else but you were waiting to make a move until the marriage was over."

"Oh." Steve's head feels like it's spinning a little. So many clues, for so long, and he'd never realized. He and Bucky could've been together for months now.

It feels like forever before George and Winifred come out of the room, Winifred openly bawling and George with tears in his eyes.

"He's awake," Winifred reports. "He's talking."

Dugan lets out a cheer and Beth starts to cry.

"Can we go see him?" Bailey asks.

"Steve, go ahead," George says.

"Oh, no, you guys go first," Steve says. "He's your brother."

The girls look uncertain, so Steve nods encouragingly. Once they're gone, Winifred gives him a look that says she knows exactly what he's doing.

"Don't be a chicken, Steve," she says bluntly, and Steve laughs in surprise despite himself.

"I'm not a chicken," he protests.

"You're hiding out because you're afraid." She pats his arm. "I'm telling you. Nothing to be afraid of. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve says softly, looking at his shoes.

When the girls come out, Becca raises an eyebrow at him.

"He asked if you're still here," she says, making Steve's heart squeeze a little.

"I'm going in," Steve says. He glances at Dugan. "I mean, unless you—"

"Beat it, Cap," Dugan interrupts. "Get in there."

"Okay. Yeah." He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. It's Bucky. And Bucky needs him.

Steve hovers in the doorway for a minute, biting his lip. Bucky catches sight of him and they stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I come in?" Steve asks meekly.

"Yeah," Bucky says. He looks so different with no hair. As if he hears Steve's thought, he brushes his right hand over his head where there aren't bandages. "Uh, I know I look kinda weird now."

"You don't look weird," Steve reassures him quickly, even though he does, kind of. It's not that he looks weird generally; Steve's just used to him with long hair. Blushing, Steve gathers his courage and adds, "You look good. You, uh. You always do."

Bucky looks at him carefully without saying anything, then exhales loudly through his nose.

"That was real?" He asks in a small voice. "Did you really say...?" He stops. Steve moves closer, close enough to put his hand over Bucky's.

"I said..." Steve takes a deep breath. "I love you." The wrinkle between Bucky's eyebrows doesn't immediately disappear, so Steve adds, "I'm _in_ love with you." Bucky's hand twitches under Steve's. "You don't have to..." Steve swallows. "I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated about anything..."

"I love you, too," Bucky says, ending his awkward fumbling. "I'm in love with you." He turns his hand over and laces his fingers through Steve's. Steve thinks his heart is going to burst. He can't believe this is happening. This is happening to _him_. This is happening in _real life_.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. Now Bucky looks worried.

"For what?" He asks cautiously.

"For..." Steve shrugs. "Sending you mixed signals, I guess. Not realizing."

Bucky shakes his head very slightly. "That's not your fault. You don't have to be sorry when I never told you how I felt."

"I'm sorry I wasted so much time, then," Steve amends. Bucky smiles at him, a smile so soft and loving Steve almost can't breathe.

"Steve," Bucky says gently. "You were still here. It would only be a waste if we weren't together at all."

Steve's chest feels so full. He leans down and kisses Bucky—no crowd, no witnesses, no reason beyond the fact that he wants to and he loves him. Bucky slides a hand up to Steve's hair and sighs a little. Steve pulls back and they smile at each other, both blushing a little.

"I, uh, I brought stuff to stay the night," Steve says, suddenly feeling shy. "If you want me to."

Bucky laughs, a sound that immediately brings a smile to Steve's face. "Steve, I never want you to leave again," Bucky says.

Steve goes around the bed to climb up beside Bucky on the side without monitors and kisses Bucky again.

"God, I love kissing you," he murmurs against Bucky's lips. Bucky shivers a little and slides his tongue against Steve's. Steve's stomach swoops and he presses closer to Bucky.  
  
The nurse comes running in and they spring apart. Steve's panting a little.

"Your heart rate was getting too high," the nurse tells Bucky embarrassedly. "Um. You can't uh...yeah, you gotta wait a week or so for any of that."

Steve can feel that his face is bright red, but Bucky starts giggling and then Steve can't help it, either, and then they're both laughing.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. "We—okay. We'll be good."

Bucky's shaking with laughter. "We're in love," he announces, and it makes Steve grin painfully wide.

"Okay," the nurse says, confused. "That's...great. Call if you need anything."

They crack up after he leaves, Steve pressing his face into Bucky's neck.

"That's embarrassing," he mumbles.

"No way," Bucky counters. "I want to tell everyone in the world."

Steve pulls back so he can smile up at Bucky. "We're already married," he reminds him, and Bucky laughs again.

"I know." He reaches out and brushes Steve's hair off his forehead. "I'm pretty happy about that." He looks over at Steve, worried. "Well. I mean. That's—I know that's serious and this is...new. I'm not saying—"

"I want to stay married to you," Steve says quickly. "I thought about that a while ago. Before I even knew I loved you. I didn't want to lose you."

Bucky's smile splits his face, his whole demeanor lighting up. He laughs. He seems to be giddy, and Steve's flattered but he also wonders if any of it is residual anesthesia.

"You're never losing me," Bucky promises. "You're stuck with me."

Steve squeezes his hand and leans in for another chaste kiss. "To the end of the line?" He asks.

"Past it," Bucky says, stroking a thumb across Steve's cheekbone. "Forever, pal."

Steve blinks away wetness in his eyes, feeling indescribably joyful.

"Forever," he repeats, smiling. "I guess I can handle that."

Bucky hasn't quit smiling in five minutes. He kisses Steve again, and Steve doesn't know if he'll quit smiling ever.

  
Steve tugs the hat further down Bucky’s head, fussing with covering up his ears. Bucky rolls his eyes and moves away.

“You don’t have hair to keep you warm anymore,” Steve reminds him.

“Doesn’t mean I’m some kind of baby,” Bucky snips back.

“Well, you’re sorta whining like one,” Steve points out.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently at the wheelchair the nurse wheels in. “No fucking way,” he says stubbornly. “I walked outta that POW camp and you think I’m letting you wheel me out of here?”

The poor girl freezes, eyes wide, and Steve can see the exact moment Bucky’s guilt kicks in. He sighs, and Steve really thinks he’s going to relent and get in the chair, but then he says,

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling at you. But I’m not getting in that wheelchair. Stark can cry about it all he wants.”

“I’ll help him,” Steve promises. She looks a bit dubious, and Steve can’t exactly blame her—Bucky’s much bigger than he is.

Steve’s still fussing over Bucky’s jacket and his hat as they walk out, and Bucky’s still telling him to cut it out, and they get out to the waiting room and find George shaking his head.

“You know, I sort of thought things might change between you when things, you know, changed,” he says. “But here you still are, arguing away.”

“We’re only arguing because Bucky’s being a stubborn shit,” Steve says, annoyed.

“We’re arguing because you won’t quit treating me like a fucking invalid,” Bucky shoots back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, some people might consider someone getting their _brain sliced open_ cause to be a bit worried—”

“And I’m walking and talking just fine—”

“Fine for you, I guess—”

“You’re such a fucking punk,” Bucky bellows.

“Well you’re a goddamn jerk!” Steve shouts right back, and they’re standing inches away from each other and then suddenly Bucky’s lips are curling up just a little and Steve can’t help but lean forward and taste them. George clears his throat.

“Yeah, that’s more along the lines of what I was thinking.”

They pull apart, both blushing a little. It’s still a little hard to keep their hands off each other, since it’s still so new. Two days hasn’t been nearly enough time to get their fill. Steve’s positive two hundred _years_ won’t be enough time.

George helps them get up the stairs to their apartment, since Steve won’t let Bucky carry anything and he also won’t stray more than three inches from Bucky’s side.

“You’ll come for dinner tomorrow night?” George asks.

“We’ll be there,” Steve promises. George gives them both a faint little smile Steve can’t quite read that leaves Bucky rolling his eyes but grinning.

“What was that?” Steve asks after George leaves. “That smile.”

“He’s happy for us,” Bucky says softly. Steve can’t help the smile that tugs at his own lips. He grabs onto Bucky’s belt loops.

“ _I’m_ happy for us.”

Bucky laughs. “I’m happy you finally wised up.”

Steve scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Steve, you glared at the waiter at that karaoke bar so hard you almost knocked him out.”

Steve shoves Bucky away, though he does it lightly. Bucky just keeps laughing at him. Steve notices, for the first time, the addition to the room, and his breath catches a little.

“What’s that?” He asks.

Bucky rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Uh. It’s your Christmas present. I had the Commandos bring it over while I was in surgery, just...just in case.”

Steve crosses the room to the chair in the corner. It’s a wooden rocking chair, a light ash color and unpolished. Steve runs his hand over one of the arms.

“It looks…” He stops. Bucky looks nervous.

“I, uh. You talked about that rocking chair your ma always told you about, the one she left behind in Ireland? So…I thought you might, you know. Like to have one.”

Steve’s throat feels tight. He’d only ever seen a picture of the chair once, but his ma used to talk about it in the most reverent tone. It was where her ma had rocked her as a baby, where she’d curled up as a child to read, where she’d learned to sew.

“Where’d you find it?” He asks, voice choked.

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Well, I made it.”

Steve gapes at him. “You _made_ it?”

Bucky shrugs. “Where'd you think we get our furniture, Steve?”

He’d never thought about it, and he certainly hadn’t thought for one second that it was all hand-made. That, Steve thinks, certainly explains why it costs so much. But that’s not the main point here.

“Bucky, you made this for me?” Steve definitely feels choked up now. He wants to wrap Bucky in his arms and just hold him.

And he can, now. So he does.

He presses his face to Bucky’s neck and takes a shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe it. It looks just like the picture I saw.”

“Just wish I coulda done it while your ma was still alive,” Bucky says, and now Steve’s crying for real. He was thinking that, but he didn’t want to say it, didn’t want Bucky to think there as anything wrong with his present.

“She would’ve loved it,” Steve promises. “I know she would’ve.”

He pulls Bucky’s face down for a kiss, then another, and another. He feels like his heart is going to burst. He has no idea what he ever could have done to deserve Bucky.

“Now my present seems pretty lame,” he laughs ruefully. Bucky’s face lights up.

“You got me a present?”

“Buck!” Steve says. “Of course I did.”

“Where is it?” Bucky asks excitedly. “Can I have it now?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re a five-year-old,” he informs Bucky. “I…” He shifts nervously. “Okay, I’ll get it. It’s not wrapped, and it’s…well.”

He goes to his room and grabs the stack of pages he’d pulled out of his sketchbook, the pictures of Bucky he’d drawn that night when his emotions were flying.

“It’s probably stupid,” he says quickly as Bucky leafs through them, face expressionless. “I just…that night when you were, uh, sleep walking or whatever, you remember? Of course you do, right. Well, you went to Dugan’s, and I felt…helpless. And I wanted you to see yourself how I see you, and so…” He shrugs. “This is how I see you.”

Bucky looks up at him with tears in his eyes. “Steve,” he whispers. He’s stopped on the sketch of the two of them together, looking at each other and laughing.

“I don’t know how I didn’t realize I was in love,” Steve jokes. “I mean, come on.”

Bucky lets out a watery chuckle. “Tell me about it.” He sets the drawings carefully on the couch and tugs Steve in closer. He kisses Steve’s hair, his forehead, then finally his lips.  
  
“I’m really in love with you,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. A total asshole, but perfect.”

Steve laughs a little, stretching up onto his toes to kiss Bucky back with a gusto. “I’m really in love with you, too.”

The kisses are getting deeper, and Bucky’s hands on Steve’s hips are getting tighter, and Steve’s got a hand fisted in the front of Bucky’s shirt to pull him closer. They’re pressing together tightly and Steve wrenches himself away.

“Uh-uh,” he pants. “You know what Dr. Cho said.”

Bucky rests his forehead against Steve’s. “Come on,” he whines. “We’ve waited so long.”

“No way!” Steve protests. “You think I wanna kill you with my dick?”

“What a way to go,” Bucky says wistfully, making Steve laugh. “At this rate I’m gonna die _without_ your dick, and ain’t that gonna be a tragedy, Steve? Poor Bucky Barnes, dying without Steve Rogers’s dick. That’ll be one for the history books.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I hope not. That’s awkward.”

Bucky sighs a little. “Good thing I love you enough that I can live without sex.”

Steve bites his lip a little nervously. The truth is, Bucky might have to live without sex more than he realizes, if Steve’s body doesn’t magically get better at pretty essential things like pumping blood. But before he can say anything, his phone buzzes.

“Your ass is buzzing!” Bucky points out, surprised. Steve snorts and pulls it out of his back pocket.

“I don’t know who this is,” he says, looking at the number. “It looks like a campus number.”

Bucky shrugs. “Answer it.”

“Hello?” Steve’s already done it before Bucky even says it.

“Hello, Steven?” An accented voice says. “Steven Rogers?”

“Uh, yes, this is Steve. Who’s this?”

“Steven, this is Abraham Erskine.” There’s a pause. “Bailey’s intro to drawing professor.”

“Oh, hello, Dr. Erskine,” Steve says, shrugging at Bucky.

“Steven, I know your husband had surgery recently—Bailey told me—and I won’t keep you long. But I have a question for you. I have a contact at Shield Comics who likes me to keep an eye out, you know, because I am with the young people.”

Steve feels breathless. Is he saying…? “Yeah?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady. Bucky’s eyebrows draw together.

“I want to send them your comic panels, if you give me your okay. I like the comic, Steven. But I need to know that you found Captain America’s heart.”

“I did,” Steve assures him quickly. “I—I know his heart, and why he fights. And the ending.” He gulps a little, eyes glancing at Bucky. He doesn’t really want Bucky to see that ending, actually.

“Oh, wonderful,” Dr. Erskine says, sounding delighted. “Don’t tell me; I want to be surprised. But I will send you an email with his contact information, yes? And you email him the new panels.”

“Okay,” Steve says, feeling like he’s going to faint. He grabs Bucky’s arm to steady himself. “Thank you, Dr. Erskine, thank you so much!”

“It is my pleasure, Steven,” Dr. Erskine says. “Your art is important. I can see it.”

Steve’s going to cry. Or throw up. Or both. Maybe at the same time. He hangs up, legs trembling, and leans into Bucky.

“He wants to send Captain America to Shield Comics.”

It takes Bucky a second to process, and then he whoops out loud. “Shield Comics, Steve! They’re gonna publish you!”

Steve laughs a little at his enthusiasm. “Well, we don’t know that yet, Buck, it’s—”

Bucky cuts him off by picking him up right off the ground. “They’re gonna publish you!” He shrieks, ignoring Steve’s squawk of protest. “How could they pass?”

“Bucky—”

Bucky puts him back down and cuts him off with a kiss. “I’m so proud of you,” he says. Steve’s poor heart almost gives out. It’s just too full. He can’t believe this is all happening. He accepts Bucky’s excited kisses and realizes everything that’s happening is in some way a result of meeting Bucky. Without Bucky, he wouldn’t know Bailey, and she’s the one who introduced him to Dr. Erskine. Without Bucky, he wouldn’t have doodled out the comics on napkins.

He clings to Bucky, overcome again with how much he loves him. Bucky looks a little surprised at the change in Steve’s demeanor, but Steve just grabs his hand and kisses every metal knuckle in the appendage Bucky so worries about.

“I love you,” Steve says, with feeling. “I love you so much.”

Bucky smiles softly, like he knows everything Steve’s thinking and feeling. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“I love you, too,” he promises. “We got great things coming up, Steve. I know it. We’re going straight there.”

“Where are we going?” Steve asks, not sure what Bucky means.

Bucky grins at him, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing him tight. “The future,” he murmurs. Steve thinks about that, thinks about how his future’s always been so confusing and scary, and how it still is, now, but he has Bucky here beside him every step of the way, and he smiles.

“The future,” he echoes. “Well, let’s go.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I can't believe it's over! I can't believe how much I wrote about this nerds haha. Big thank you to everyone who's come along on this ride! Your comments and kudos and messages mean so much to me, I can't even say. Fair warning: this chapter is ridiculously, over-the-top, disgustingly fluffy.

Steve wakes up to lips at his ear. He twitches but doesn’t open his eyes. The lips move down to his neck. That makes him smirk a little, but he keeps his eyes closed. They trail down his chest, down his stomach, and when they reach his hip, he finally cracks an interested eye.

“Oh, now you’re awake, huh?” The lips mouth against his skin. Bucky’s voice is sleep-rough and still so incredibly hot, no matter how many times Steve hears it.

“Well, you’re going somewhere good now,” Steve points out. “Don’t want to miss that.”

“Hmm…” Bucky says thoughtfully. “You _think_ I’m going somewhere good. What if I just like your hip?”

Steve laughs. “I think I know what you like best.”

“Yes,” Bucky says solemnly. He vaults himself back up the bed and kisses Steve’s forehead. “Your beautiful mind.”

Steve cracks up laughing. “Tease,” he accuses.

Bucky pretends to be wounded. “You should be happy I want you for more than your body.”

“Oh, I am,” Steve assures him. “Wouldn’t be much payoff for you if you weren’t.”

Bucky frowns for real now. “Quit it,” he chides. He dips his head to suck at Steve’s sharp collar bone. “I,” he proclaims, moving over to Steve’s left nipple. “Happen—” he’s back down at Steve’s stomach and starts dropping feather-light kisses on every protruding rib, “to really—” He bites at the inside of Steve’s skinny thigh, “enjoy—” he noses at Steve’s dick and makes him suck in a breath, “your body.”

Steve hisses as Bucky stops talking, intent on his task now. Steve’s not completely hard, but that doesn’t deter either of them. They’ve learned to work with what they get in the moment.

“Oh,” Bucky says, popping off and making Steve whine a little. “Happy anniversary.” His grin is confusingly arousing with how goofy and in love he looks coupled with the precome on his chin and spit on his lips.

“Boy, you’re romantic,” Steve manages to find two brain cells to say.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky hums as he gets back to work.

“Happy anniversary,” Steve moans back.

Later, after they’ve both come and Bucky’s dick even manages another sort of hopeful little twitch, they revisit the sappy part of the morning.

“So,” Steve says. “It’s our one-year anniversary.”

“Is it?” Bucky feigns ignorance. “Hm. I forgot. I guess I just like to wake you up with blowjobs.”

“And I appreciate that,” Steve says fervently. “But we do have a party to go to.”

Bucky flops his head onto Steve’s shoulder, snuggling into him as the air conditioner kicks on. It’s still getting cold at night, but it’s almost noon. They’d slept in and then, well, they were a bit busy.

“We have hours until the party,” Bucky reminds Steve. “I wonder what we’ll do with all that time.”

Steve laughs. “Someone’s optimistic,” he says. Unless there’s some kind of miracle, he won’t be getting it up for at least two days, probably. Bucky smiles into Steve’s neck.

“I just wanted to cuddle,” he counters. From anyone else, it might be a line, but Bucky is actually kind of surprisingly snuggly. It shouldn’t be surprising, really, considering all the times he’d dropped his head into Steve’s lap before they were even actually together, but he’s apparently happy as a clam to take full advantage of their openly-declared love for more cuddle access.

Steve makes sure Bucky sees his hand moving before he brings it up to brush through Bucky’s hair. He still doesn’t like unexpected things coming toward his face and there are still days when he can’t take Steve touching his hair, but most days, like today, if Steve makes sure to give him fair warning, he arches into it like a cat.

“Just think,” Steve muses. “We would’ve been getting divorced today if things didn’t work out the way they had.”

Bucky snorts. “Gee, Steve, your sunny disposition never fails.”

“What?” Steve asks. “That _is_ sunny. We’re _not_ getting divorced.”  
  
“This would not be a good day if we were,” Bucky says softly.

“No,” Steve agrees, thinking about what a wreck he’d be if they were. “It wouldn’t.”

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve a little. “Well, I’m glad you got your stubborn ass going, finally,” he says.

Steve groans. “Come on, how was I supposed to know you were in love with me? I mean, look at you! You’re way outta my league”

“I bought you _flowers_ , Steve,” Bucky says, laughing. “I told you how hot you were like _every single_ day. I ate nut cheese for you!”

“I’ve never heard you complain about nut cheese,” Steve mutters, making Bucky cackle.

“My adorable, oblivious, stubborn little hobbit.” Bucky kisses the tip of Steve’s nose while Steve scowls. “Without the hairy feet,” he amends quickly, because that’s usually Steve’s complaint. Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly and Steve shakes his head.

“No,” he says obstinately.

“Oh, come on, Stevie, say it,” Bucky pouts. “The whole thing was your idea anyway.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “My Aragorn,” he huffs. He could point out that Bucky’s hair hasn’t grown back to Aragorn-length yet, but that would only make Bucky upset as he thought about why his hair was so short, and anyway, Steve is a _huge_ fan of the current length Bucky’s sporting. It’s not quite to his chin, growing out after being shaved for the surgery in December, and he often frustratedly blows strands off his face because it isn’t long enough to pull back into a ponytail, but Steve loves it. He’d try to convince Bucky to keep it like this if he didn’t love the bun, too, and know that Bucky likes it better long.

Bucky’s starting to shift around restlessly now, and Steve can tell cuddle time’s wrapping up. Bucky can go completely motionless for hours—days, maybe—if he has to, but when he gets to choose, he can’t sit still for half an hour.

“You gonna go for a run?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky says. “I already missed Gabe, though.”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t expecting you today of all days,” Steve points out.

“Why, Steve?” Bucky asks innocently. “What do you think he was expecting?”

Steve just rolls his eyes again while Bucky laughs at his own joke. Steve can’t help but smile. This is a good day. It’s a good morning. They slept in because they were up late watching the latest superhero movie, not because of bad dreams. The most negative thing that happened was Bucky continuously declaring loudly,

“Captain America is a _way_ better superhero than this guy.”

Steve’s still not sure who Bucky was declaring that _to_ , since they were watching it on DVD in their apartment.

Good days are getting more and more common these days, now that Bucky’s going to VA meetings and even regularly showing up to his individual therapy appointments instead of only going for prescription refills.

Steve’s benefitting from the increased sleep he’s getting, and the air purifier in the apartment is actually doing wonders for his breathing. Things got a little rocky around the anniversary of his mother’s death a few months ago, but he knew that was coming and warned Bucky ahead of time.

It also helped that Bucky spent two days in bed with him when it hit, even if Steve did feel guilty that he was missing class to do it. And yes, Steve got strep throat in February, but at least he hasn’t been back to the hospital since the summer.

Bucky kisses Steve’s temple and rolls out of bed. His bedhead is even more pronounced with how short his hair is, and it delights Steve to no end. Steve snuggles back down into the covers for a minute. He’s not going to fall back to sleep, but it’s nice to laze around for a bit. He’s got panels he needs to finish and storyboards to create, but he doesn’t have to do it today. He already told Nick Fury, his boss at Shield Comics, he wouldn't have anything this week because of his anniversary.

Today he gets to lie in bed and relish the incredible view of his naked husband scratching his ass as he roots around in the dresser for his running shorts.

“Did you rearrange this drawer again?” Bucky grumbles. “Shorts on the left, shirts on the right, Steve, come on.”

“I guess you’ll just have to put the laundry away yourself,” Steve shoots back. Bucky laughs, because they both know Bucky does the bulk of the laundry. Steve cleans the bathroom, so he doesn’t feel too bad.

Bucky’s got his shoes laced up and his long-sleeved shirt on, but he pauses in the doorway, turns around, and comes back to lean over Steve and drop another kiss on his lips.

“Bye,” he murmurs into more kisses. “Happy anniversary.”

Steve laughs a little. “Happy anniversary,” he says. “You’re getting sappy.”

Bucky nuzzles their noses together. “I’m allowed to. It’s my anniversary.”

Steve watches him go with a fond smile on his face. They finally got together for real almost six months ago, but Steve still has to pinch himself sometimes. It was rough going at first; they both spent a lot of time wondering if the other was really serious, if this could actually be happening, but they’re past that.

Now Steve just can’t believe how _lucky_ he is.

Sometimes he’s still not sure he deserves Bucky—no, some days he’s _sure_ he doesn’t deserve Bucky—but he knows he’s got Bucky either way. And he gets angry when Bucky thinks he doesn’t deserve Steve, so he knows how Bucky feels on Steve’s bad days.

Steve gets out of bed and showers before he decides to pick up around the apartment. Everything sitting out is his; Bucky is tidy and doesn’t leave his shoes in the entryway or his jacket on the back of the armchair the way Steve always does. Steve’s pretty sure he probably hoped their love would magically transform Steve into a cleaner person, but it definitely didn’t happen.

There’s a bagel already sliced and toasted and covered in peanut butter waiting on the counter, and Steve sticks it in his mouth while he carries an armful of crumpled up papers, discarded jackets, and pencils out of the living room. The door buzzes before he gets to the room. Bucky shouldn’t be back yet. Steve’s not expecting anyone.

Steve pushes the buzzer with his elbow. “Mmph?” He tries to talk around the bagel.

“Steve?” Sam asks. Steve buzzes him in, but he can’t unlock the door with his hands full. He deliberates for a minute, then drops his shoes and kicks them out of the way. They’ve been in the living room for almost a week—what’s another hour?

“Hey,” Sam greets as he comes inside, rolling his eyes when he sees Steve’s mouth full of bagel. “Well, at least you’re eating.”

Steve uses one now-free hand to pull the bagel out of his mouth. “I’ve gained four pounds this year!”

“Oh my God, I know,” Sam complains. Steve rolls his eyes back. He might have a tendency to point that out. Often.

Though not as often as Winifred does.

“Riley’s dad on your case again?” Steve asks sympathetically. Riley’s parents are visiting from Arkansas. They both like Sam, but Riley’s dad is…difficult. He’s not openly hostile, and he came to the wedding and everything, but he still thinks Sam “turned” Riley gay.

Sam blows out a breath. “Not everybody got in-laws as good as yours.” It’s the closest he’ll come to complaining about Riley’s dad.

“I know,” Steve says, trying not to sound too smug. He really won the in-law lottery. And the husband lottery, if he does say so himself, but he knows Sam won’t agree with him on that one. Steve's sure Riley's a perfectly respectable husband, probably even better than average, but he's not Bucky.

Sam flops down on the couch and turns on the TV. “I’m just going to chill for a while, okay? Do your thing.”

Steve crams the last of his bagel in his mouth. “I’ll put this stuff away,” he says, muffled and probably mostly indecipherable. “Hang on.”

Sam just looks bemused and shrugs. Steve coughs a little and Sam rolls his eyes. Steve can hear him muttering but can’t make out the words, but he knows it’s a dig on him choking. He actually puts his shoes in the closet in their designated space and puts his jacket on the hanger, then heads back out to the couch to hang out with Sam.

Bucky gets home about half an hour later, sweating and raking his hair back from his face.

“Oh, boy,” he calls out. “You cleaned up. Is that my present?”

“Happy anniversary,” Steve says. “I even put my shoes in the closet.”

Bucky pretends to be blown away, putting a hand on his chest dramatically. “Steve, am I dying?”

Steve frowns and twists around so Bucky can see it. “That’s not funny.”

“Shit, it’s your anniversary,” Sam says. “I didn’t even think of that. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Bucky waves a hand. “Can it, Wilson. We already did that part.”

“One and a half times,” Steve brags, even though for most people one and a half times is a pretty sorry stat to be bragging about.

“Okay, TMI,” Sam complains.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Bucky says, stopping in the kitchen to grab a drink from his water bottle. Steve watches his throat bob as he swallows and Sam snorts.

“Seriously, I can go,” he offers.

“No, no, I can’t do anything anyway,” Steve tells him, flushing a little. Sam just nods, though. He knows enough about the medications Steve and Bucky are both on and Steve’s chronic illnesses to understand.

Steve’s phone lights up with a snapchat from Peggy. It’s a picture of Angie holding a giant lollypop, probably as big as her face. _She loves England_ , the caption says.

Steve snaps back a picture of Sam lying dramatically on the sofa. _Take him with you next time_ , he requests.

Steve still feels a little guilty over everything that happened with Peggy. They’ve gotten past it, and she comes to the weekly lunch with Sam and Natasha most of the time. Steve’s so grateful they’re still friends, but it’s still a little weird, navigating his friendship with her while they’re both in relationships with other people, especially since his relationship with Bucky was what changed his relationship with her. He was relieved—and then felt guilty again for that relief—when he found out her trip to take Angie to meet her parents coincided with the anniversary party.

When Bucky gets out of the shower, the three of them sit watching Animal Planet for a while, Bucky on the couch in front of Steve and Steve digging his fingers into the knots in Bucky’s neck and shoulders. After the second episode of Dog Cops, Sam stands up, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna get enough of your grossness at the party,” he says. “I’m out.”

“We are not gross,” Steve protests. “We’ve both had very hard lives.”

“We deserve to be happy,” Bucky adds.

Sam throws a pretzel at them. They should probably vacuum, because neither of them can remember the last time they bought pretzels.

They spend the rest of the afternoon the way they’ve been spending most days since Bucky’s semester ended two weeks ago: lying together on the couch, cuddling and dozing through a movie. Steve starts tickling Bucky, and Bucky threatens to give Steve a hickey in plain view in retaliation, so they call a truce. Steve does not want to show up at their anniversary party and deal with everyone seeing him with a hickey. The teasing would be relentless.

Finally, it’s time to get ready to go, and they elbow and dance around each other in the bathroom.

“You’re getting toothpaste on the mirror,” Bucky complains, the same way he does every night before bed. “Close your mouth.”

“How do you know that’s not from you?” Steve shoots back, spraying toothpaste all over the mirror. Bucky somehow manages to frown and look smug at the same time. Bucky rubs deodorant under his arms and then hands it off to Steve, who passes him the hairspray.

“I hate this hair,” Bucky grumps, wetting his comb. Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s hips and turns him around.

“I don’t,” Steve assures him, pulling him in by his belt loops. Bucky’s mouth curves up in a lopsided smile.

“Oh, yeah?”

“ _Oh_ yeah,” Steve says, leaning up to kiss Bucky.

“You want me to keep it like this?” Bucky asks, face dropping all expression. It took Steve an embarrassingly long time to realize Bucky does that when he’s hiding his emotions—he makes himself go blank so he doesn’t show how vulnerable he feels.

“I want you to keep it however you like it,” Steve tells him. “I like it long, I like it short, I even liked it shaved off.”

Bucky laughs a little. “No, you didn’t. It felt all weird and fuzzy.”

“Don’t care,” Steve says stubbornly. “If it’s you, I like it.”

Bucky snorts. “Now who’s sappy?” He’s ducking his head and smiling and it’s one of Steve’s favorite sights in the world.

“I’m allowed to,” Steve murmurs. “It’s my anniversary.”

They’re only ten minutes late to the party.

Sam raises an eyebrow when they walk out to the backyard at Bucky's parents' house. “Thought you said that wasn’t gonna happen.”

Steve blushes scarlet. “It didn’t!” He insists. All they did was make out for a while. They’ve gotten very, very good at that.

Riley is laughing at them. “You _would_ be late to your own party.”

“We needed to make an entrance,” Bucky says.

“Oh, there you are,” Winifred says. “I was worried you weren’t coming. Go eat.”

“Ma, we’re barely even late,” Bucky points out.

“If you’re not early, you’re late,” she says loftily. “Which makes you extra late.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and groans and Steve laughs. Winifred winks at Steve and shoos them away. “Go eat!” She repeats. “I want Steve to gain another pound to make it an even five.”

“Leave Steve alone,” Bucky warns. “If I catch you stuffing rolls in his pockets again we’re gonna have a conversation.”

Winifred waves a hand carelessly. “He likes it.”

“He does like it,” Steve agrees.

Bucky gives him a look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Ann took over planning everything again—without being asked, _again_ —so, as a result, Steve and Bucky have to sit at a table up in front of the yard, sequestered and on display. There’s a centerpiece with weird colored rocks inside that’s taking up so much space they can hardly fit their plates and cups on the table at the same time.

“The fuck is this?” Bucky asks, so nonplussed it makes Steve laugh.

“Do you think that’s candy?” Steve asks, sitting up taller to peer over the lip of the vase.

“Eat it and find out.”

“I’m not going to eat it without knowing what it is!” Steve protests. “I’m medically fragile.”

Bucky snorts. “Didn’t seem medically fragile this morning.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but laugh. “Why don’t _you_ eat one?”

“You want me to put these balls in my mouth, huh?”

“Bucky, stop!” Steve laughs, knocking his elbow into Bucky.

“Don’t elbow me, I’m eating!”

“Don’t make me blush when people are watching!”

“I’m just saying, you like watching me stuff balls in my—”

“You guys are disgusting,” Natasha cuts in, making them both jump. They’d been leaning closer and closer together and hadn’t noticed her creep up, which, of course, was her goal.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Steve complains. “We were irritating when we weren’t together, now we get together and everyone says we’re gross.”

“We just can’t win,” Bucky agrees, shaking his head.

Natasha rolls her eyes fondly at them. “I’m only going to say this once,” she starts. “And I’ll deny it if anyone asks. But I’m very happy you two got things figured out. You’re good for each other.”

Steve feels a rush of affection for her and has to stand up to give her a hug. She goes onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “You deserve every good thing.”

Steve’s throat is a little clogged when they pull apart, and Bucky puts a soft hand on his back understandingly.

“Clint has our gift,” Natasha says, getting back onto firmer emotional ground. “But I think he got distracted by your nephew and the pizza table.”

Sure enough, Clint and Jamie are both holding a piece of pizza in each hand and deep in conversation. They both look very serious, so they can only be discussing their hatred of vegetables again.

“Buh!” Ella declares, toddling over. She’s just over a year old now, and her chubby little legs can actually carry her pretty fast when she decides to run. She heads straight for Bucky’s lap and he obligingly scoops her up. She leans over to pat Steve’s cheek and shrieks with giggles when Bucky blows a raspberry on her tummy.

“Oh, great,” Dugan calls. “Barnes found a lady to charm.”

“Someone protect her from Cap’s wrath!” Falsworth adds. Steve has no choice but to throw one of his precious rolls at them, and Bucky offers him a high-five when it pegs Falsworth in the back of the head.

“That was impressive,” Natasha praises. “See if you can get Morita.”

“Steven!” Thor booms out, coming up to clap a hand on Steve’s back hard enough to make him fall forward a little bit. “Barnes!” He lowers his voice a little in deference to Ella, who’s watching him with giant blue eyes. “I am overjoyed to be celebrating this wonderful day with you. The day of your joining!”

Natasha presses her lips together and Steve narrows his eyes at her. He knows exactly what she’s thinking in terms of “joining.”

“Thor, it was not when they actually joined,” Volstagg points out, because Volstagg always points out things like that. Steve and Bucky hadn’t really planned to go around telling everyone the truth, but Thor had noticed their increased happiness after they really got together, so they’d told. Some of Bucky’s extended family still doesn’t know the truth.

Bucky makes a face and gestures at Ella. “Hey, baby here,” he scolds.

Thor laughs happily, and it makes Ella laugh. “But it is still when your lives became entwined,” he points out. “If not for this day, you wouldn’t have each other now.”

Steve can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “Well, that’s true,” he agrees, a hand resting easily on Bucky’s thigh.

“Even though Steve didn’t want to marry me,” Bucky teases.

“You didn’t want to marry me either!” Steve says defensively.

“Are you kidding?” Bucky shoots back. “You tried to bite my head off the first day we met. _And_ the second day. I knew it was love.”

“You are such a liar,” Steve accuses. “You kept trying to get me to back out.”

Bucky laughs a little. “Just testing you. Good thing you’re so stubborn, huh?”

Steve opens his mouth to protest and say that he isn’t stubborn, but he stops. That would be a losing fight. Volstagg laughs.

“Wise decision,” he says. “Now excuse me, please. I must attend to the food before Hogun and Fandrul eat everything.”

Thor looks slightly worried. “Sif is there, too,” he reminds Volstagg. “She’ll eat more than they will.”

“I’m going to put the present on the table,” Natasha says. “Clint’s going to abandon it somewhere to get more pizza.”

“You didn’t have to get us anything,” Steve says.

“Well, I already did,” Natasha points out, smirking. “So you’re just being polite.”

Bucky laughs at the way Steve sputters. “Don’t make him choke,” he warns.

“No, I’ll leave that to you,” Natasha fires over her shoulder. Now Steve does choke, and Bucky pats his back while hooting with laughter. Ella laughs too, though she obviously has no idea why, and she reaches for Steve. They’ve gained an understanding over the past year. She doesn’t cry when he holds her, and he doesn’t wear his glasses when she’s around. It just seems cruel to show her something she wants to play with and tell her no.

“Ellie-Belly loves Steve, huh?” Bucky baby-talks. “Yeah, who doesn’t? What a face, right? So handsome.” Ella claps her hands over Steve’s face when Bucky says _face_ and Bucky rewards her with a blinding grin. “That’s right, there’s his cute face!”

Steve’s blushing. “Stop,” he says.

“Stop what?” Bucky asks, tugging at one of Ella’s curls and making her babble.

“Stop calling me cute.”

Bucky laughs. “Why? You are cute. You’re adorable and sexy and gorgeous.”

“Bucky,” Steve protests, blushing harder and ducking his head.

“No complaining and no arguing,” Bucky admonishes. “It’s our anniversary. I get to shower you in praise today.”

“Fine,” Steve counters, bringing his head back up defiantly. “Then you don’t get to dodge my compliments either.”

“Do I ever?” Bucky asks.

“You’re smart,” Steve says immediately, and Bucky’s forehead wrinkles. Steve raises his eyebrows triumphantly. “No complaining and no arguing,” he reminds Bucky. “You’re smart and your _entire_ body is hot as hell and there’s not one thing I’d change about you.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to blush, which is a significantly harder task than getting Steve to blush, and Steve smiles at him, feeling soft and gentle suddenly after he’d been prickly a second ago. Now he kind of gets why Bucky was doing it.

“Ella,” Becca says. “There you are. Steve and Bucky need to eat, baby girl, so you’re coming with me.”

Ella clings to Steve stubbornly, squawking angrily when Becca picks her up. “I don’t mind,” Steve says. “You can eat. I’ll hold her.”

“Are you sure?” Becca asks, already taking a few steps backward. Ella snuggles into Steve’s chest and he smiles.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he promises. He doesn’t even have to say it again before Becca’s beating a quick retreat to the food table. “We should babysit for them some night,” Steve says. He turns to look at Bucky and stops at the look on Bucky’s face. “What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Bucky says. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing, huh?” He asks skeptically. “You just looked like you were about to cry.”

Bucky looks down at his plate, shoving some chicken parmesan around without eating it. “Nothing,” he repeats, softer this time, and Steve feels a little worry clench at his stomach.

“Buck?”

Bucky sighs. “You’ve gotten good with the kids,” he says, still not looking at Steve. “You—you want kids? Someday? I don’t think I can…” He swallows hard and shrugs. “You’re not gonna get kids. With me.”

That’s quite a bit to parse through, especially when they’re sitting in Bucky’s parents’ backyard surrounded by family and friends. Steve shifts Ella over a little so he can grab Bucky’s hand.

“Well, for starters, I’m not sure I want kids,” Steve says, which is true. Sure, he’s sort of thought about it in the abstract—Bucky bouncing kids on his lap, a squeaky little voice calling them both dad—but never really seriously. “And anyway,” Steve goes on. “If _we_ decide we want kids, there are a lot of ways we could go about it.” He grins teasingly. “One of us doesn’t have to get pregnant, you know.”

Bucky doesn’t smile back. “I mean I don’t know if can…” He bites his lip. “I shouldn’t be raising kids, is what I mean.”

Steve takes a second to absorb that. “You think you wouldn’t be a good father?”

“I could have a flashback,” Bucky says. “I could sleepwalk. I could forget where I am.” He doesn’t say the part Steve knows worries him the most— _I could hurt them._

Steve sighs and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “I’m going to say three things, and you don’t get to complain or argue,” he says, reminding Bucky of the already-in-place rule. “First, if you want kids, you would be an amazing dad, Buck, seriously. You’re patient and good and you’re already a great big brother and uncle. Second,” he says, drowning out whatever Bucky’s going to try to say. “You’re doing so much better than you were, Bucky, even better than when we met. When was the last time you even had a flashback?” He doesn’t even let Bucky answer the question. “And _third_ , we’ve only been together like six months. Even if you count from when we got married, that’s only a year. We don’t have to decide anything now. So if this is because Uncle Edgar said some shit, I’m gonna go fight him.”

Bucky laughs a little, despite himself. “You can’t fight Uncle Edgar,” he says. “The man is seventy years old. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“It would be fair,” Steve argues. “Because I’m medically fragile.”

Bucky laughs for real now and shakes his head. “If you say that one more time today I’m going to record it and use it against you when I’m trying to keep you from doing something stupid.”

“I never do anything stupid,” Steve says with a grin. “You take all the stupid with you.”

Bucky brings their entwined hands up to his mouth and presses his lips to Steve’s knuckles. “You’re pretty alright, you know that?”

Steve laughs loudly. “You sure know how to compliment a guy.”

“Just my best guy,” he promises.

“Are you guys being lovey dovey?” Beth asks, coming over. “I’m supposed to ask how long until you’re ready for cake, but I don’t want to interrupt you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at her. “We don’t believe in being lovey dovey.”

“You kiss like every five seconds,” Beth points out, unimpressed. She used to sigh over how cute they were, but apparently the shine’s worn off and she’s no longer enchanted. She is, after all, entering college in the fall. She’s a wise, mature woman now.

“There’s cake?” Steve asks. He doesn’t even have to wonder anymore if he’ll be able to eat it. He knows Winifred wouldn’t make something he can’t eat.

Beth giggles. “I’ll tell Ma you’re ready now. Gimme the baby.”

“What? Why?” Bucky protests.

“Because I want a turn! Clint’s hogging Jamie.”

A glance over at Clint’s table shows them Jamie on Clint’s lap, looking at his phone. They’re probably looking at pictures of Lucky. Jamie’s recently become obsessed with dogs.

Steve hands Ella over and she goes with Beth. Apparently she just doesn’t want to go with her parents. Probably because they’ll make her eat something other than blueberries, which she does not seem inclined to do anytime soon.

Bucky drapes his arm over the back of Steve’s chair and Steve leans into him a little. “This is sorta like a reception,” Bucky muses. “Presents and cake and everything.”

“And this time we actually like each other,” Steve adds helpfully.

“Yeah, today,” Bucky jokes. “Ask me again tomorrow maybe.” He wouldn’t have teased about that even a few months ago, but they both know better now.

“Okay, we’re bringing the cake out,” Winifred announces loudly. Jamie cheers. “But first we’re going to give Steve and James a special present from George and me.” She smiles at her husband, who walks to her side amiably. He hands Bucky the envelope he’s holding.

“We’re glad you two figured things out,” he says quietly, just for them to hear. “It’s good to see you both so happy.”

“You didn’t have a honeymoon after you got married last year,” Winifred reminds them. Steve cringes a little at the thought. Sure, _now_ he’d love to go somewhere and lie around naked with Bucky, but a year ago there were few things that would have been more uncomfortable.

“So here’s your honeymoon,” George finishes. Bucky’s head snaps up.

“What?” He says.

“Open the envelope!” Bailey yells. Bucky does as he’s told and gasps.

“What is it?” Steve asks, crowding closer to see. Airline tickets. His stomach drops a little. They’re tickets to Ireland.

“Ireland,” he breathes.

The Commandos are making a huge ruckus. “Just like your damn movie!” Gabe yells.

“You can learn a real accent!” Dernier adds.

Bucky glances at Steve to gauge his reaction. Steve had a bit of a freak-out not long after they got together about how much money Bucky’s parents have given him. He’s still finding ways to give some back to them—“Technically, I broke the contract since we’re not getting divorced” he likes to point out, though it absolutely does nothing to sway them—and he gets a little prickly about them buying him things. Bucky had his own freak-out about Steve sticking around longer because of the money, like Steve was obligated to him or something. So money’s still a bit of a sensitive subject for them, even now that Steve’s making his own with his comic book.

Plus there’s the added complication about Steve’s mother and Ireland. He can already feel the sadness over the fact that they never got to go together welling up. How will he be able to look at things she saw as a child and not miss her?

But then he looks over at Bucky. Despite his apprehension, there’s excitement in his eyes, too, and Steve can tell he’s dying to go. A lot of Steve is shrieking internally, too. He’s always thought someday he’d go. His plans had always involved taking his ma, of course, but he knows she wouldn’t begrudge him this.

Bucky’s biting his lip, nervous for how Steve’s going to react, and Steve feels bad. He’s still a bit of a loose cannon sometimes, flying off the handle and getting defensive about things. He wishes Bucky didn’t have to be worried he’d make a scene in front of all their family and friends.

Steve smiles at Bucky and Bucky’s face instantly lights up. “Yeah?” Bucky laughs. Steve nods. Bucky woops and leans forward to kiss Steve, then he springs out of his chair to hug his parents. The guests all cheer and Steve gets up and gives Winifred a hug of his own.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, feeling choked up. They could have bought them tickets to anywhere, really, or at least somewhere more traditionally “honeymoon”, but they knew Ireland, specifically, would mean a lot.

“Anything for my boys,” she tells him, and his heart squeezes a little more. He really did win the in-law jackpot.

Once the cake comes out, Steve and Bucky aren’t stuck at their isolated table, and the party gets going with mingling and dancing and a whole lot of noise. It is, Steve realizes, what their reception should have been, and he feels another wave of gratitude for Winifred for putting it together.

“I have a surprise for you,” Bucky says, coming up behind Steve and wrapping an arm around his waist. “And it’s really stupid but you’re going to laugh really hard.”

“That’s no way to talk about your dick,” Steve says. Bucky laughs at him and pulls him around to the side of the house, where Dugan is waiting with a tandem bike and holding two bowties. Steve doubles over, laughing so hard he starts to wheeze.

Bucky’s grinning triumphantly. “I knew you’d laugh.”

“Did you tell him?” Steve asks Dugan. Now Bucky looks confused. Dugan’s laughing, now, too, and he shakes his head. He opens his camera case and pulls out a pack of bubble gum, and Bucky starts laughing. Their engagement pictures weren't the stereotypical kind, but they're going to take them now.

“We planned the same surprise?”

“It’s almost like you guys were _destined_ to be together or something,” Riley says loudly.

“Oh my God,” Sam mutters. “Not this again.”

“It does seem rather fatey,” Clint agrees.

“I don’t think fate had anything to do with it,” Natasha cuts in. “It was all thanks to—”

“We know,” Morita breaks in. “You’re the one who got Steve to do it.”

“Though Winifred thought the whole thing up,” Gabe points out.

“So she should get the credit,” Dernier says.

“Shouldn’t we get any credit?” Bucky asks. “I mean, I’m the one who made Steve fall in love with me!”

“Barely,” Falsworth says. “You sure took your time doing it.”

“Hey, it’s not Bucky’s fault I was slow,” Steve defends Bucky.

“Okay, that’s kind of sweet,” Beth mutters. “Calling himself stupid to stand up for Bucky.”

“He didn’t call himself stupid,” Bailey points out. “You just did.”

“To be fair, they were both stupid,” Becca says.

“Bucky could have just said something,” Mark agrees.

“Leave them alone,” George says. “It’s their anniversary.”

“Well, they could’ve been happier sooner,” Winifred says. “But it doesn’t matter because you’re happy now!”

“I still don’t believe there wasn’t anything going on with that pie at Thanksgiving,” Ann says.

“Oh, of course there was,” Kay agrees.

Steve puts his hands on his hips and shares a look with Bucky. They have ridiculous friends and family and none of them will let them forget how long they were in love with each other without saying anything (on Bucky’s part) or even realizing it (on Steve’s).

“We got some pictures to take,” Dugan tells everyone. “Go eat cake or something.”

It’s loud with everyone gathered around, and as they all make their exit they take care to do a lot of bumping into each other and Steve and Bucky. Bucky ends up a few feet away, putting his bowtie on, and Steve can’t stop looking at him and smiling. Bucky catches him looking and smiles back, finishing the last loop on his bowtie.

 _I love you_ , he signs.

Steve doesn’t even try to fight the dopey look that overcomes his face. _I love you_ , he signs back. _Forever._

 _Forever plus one_ , Bucky one-ups him.

Steve laughs. _Forever plus two._

Bucky walks over to him slowly enough that Steve gets to appreciate the view. He reaches out and straightens Steve’s bowtie. “You’re arguing with me, punk.”

“I’m agreeing with you,” Steve protests. “Well, okay, _now_ I’m arguing with you, jerk.”

Bucky laughs a little and puts his hands on Steve’s face to pull him in for a kiss. “I love you anyway.”

“I love you, too,” Steve answers. There’s no denying they’re being lovey dovey now, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t believe he gets all this—this big group of people who care that he’s happy, this family that accepted him with barely the blink of an eye, and this man who loves him despite all his issues and flaws. He can’t believe it, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  


“Hi Ma,” Steve says, brushing his fingers over the name on the headstone. “Bucky’s just parking the car and then he’ll be here. He’s got a new joke for you and I know you’re going to love it.”

He leans against her headstone for a second. “Guess what? Buck and I are going to Ireland. Can you believe it? I wish you were here to come, too, but I’m finally going to see where you grew up.”

He can see Bucky walking across the cemetery, respectfully taking care not to walk over anyone’s grave. He smiles at the sight and at the dorky wave Bucky tosses his way when their eyes meet.

“I’m so happy, Ma,” Steve whispers. “I wish you were here, but don’t worry, okay?” He waves back at Bucky. “I never thought I’d get to be this happy. But I am.” He looks down at the flowers they left last time they were here and smiles, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes but not in a bad way, the tightness in his throat from the thought of how his mother would be glad he’d found Bucky. He feels a little overwhelmed by it all, but he lets out a slow breath and relishes the comfortable, warm feeling in his chest.

“Talking about me?” Bucky asks as he walks up.

“Yeah,” Steve says, not feeling like joking. Bucky gives him a soft smile and wraps an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“What were you saying?” He asks.

Steve leans into him and slides his arm around Bucky’s waist. “I was just telling her how happy I am.”

Bucky ducks his head a little, a beautiful uptick to his lips, and squeezes Steve a bit tighter. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s my goal.”

“Making me happy?” Steve asks. “That’s funny, because _my_ goal’s to make _you_ happy.”

“Well, look at that,” Bucky drawls out. “Looks like we’re both succeeding.”

Steve tips his head against Bucky’s chin and hums a little, content. “I guess we are.”

“Let’s keep doing that, huh?” Bucky asks, muffled against Steve’s hair. Steve huffs a little at the way it tickles, but he stays wrapped up in Bucky’s arms.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s keep doing that.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can always come talk to me on [tumblr!](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com/)


End file.
